Ain't That a Kick in the Head
by ElsBells
Summary: On an abrupt, ill-advised vacation from Los Angeles, Rachel trips right into Quinn Fabray, a local shop owner in faded red shorts. It starts with surfboards and a jellyfish sting. Faberry AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Ain't That a Kick in the Head**

**Chapter 1**

Everything about the place was hot. Sand, water, air. The little metal buckle on Rachel's beach bag had turned into a branding iron and the bottoms of her feet were being scorched through her flip-flops. Sand sprayed up the backs of her legs as she hurried stiltedly along the beach, head tucked low, phone pressed to her ear and gradually heating like an iron in the fire.

"Just come back, Rachel." Tina implored. Again, for maybe the twelfth time. She sounded absolutely exhausted.

Rachel plowed right through the sand.

"I'm done with it, Tina. With LA and New York, at least for a couple months. I want-"

"That's fine!" Tina's voice grew in pitch. She laughed a bit helplessly. "You can have a break, Rachel, that's great! But you can't just drop off the map without letting anybody know!"

Rachel huffed and squinted through her sunglasses, looking for somewhere to drop all of her stuff. She might need to take a detour to the water before her feet burned off.

"You didn't even tell your manager. Or your friends, Rachel. You didn't tell us."

"I'm telling you now, right?" Rachel reasoned, annoyed. She trudged through the sand and noted that the beach was less populated the further she went. "I need a break, Tina, so I'm taking a break. Right now."

_Right now_ actually meant _in the middle of the night last week_, when Rachel had woken up on the floor next to her bed at three a.m. after making probably the worst mistake of her life, hit with the epiphany that she needed to get out of the city.

Maybe if she extracted herself from the situation, it would disappear nicely.

So she booked a flight. For somewhere with no traffic or gray skies, no alarms or call times, no magazines, interviews, exes, co-stars, prying, jaded eyes.

Tina sighed. She was quiet for a moment. "Where exactly did you say you are?"

"Jupiter." Rachel replied evenly.

Another planet. Where the sand scorched her feet, the sun was blinding, and the humidity curled her hair.

"Jupiter." Tina sounded unamused. "You've been in _Florida_ for three days?"

"I didn't particularly want to leave the country." Rachel reasoned. "I needed out of California and New York, and I wasn't going home, so…I thought I would appreciate the beaches."

"The beaches."

Rachel shrugged her bag higher on her shoulder and breathed heavily. "Are you just going to repeat everything I say?"

"Rachel Berry…" Tina laughed, resigned. "I love you. I don't understand why you're doing this, why you're in _Florida_, but-"

"Why do you keep accenting Florida like that?" Rachel broke in, mildly offended on the state's behalf.

"But, I'm here if you want to talk, okay?" Tina assured, ignoring her interruption. "I'll-maybe I can fend off your manager, but not for long. I just-I'm worried you're throwing something away. You didn't tell anybody, Rachel."

"It was spontaneous." Rachel said quietly.

Tina hummed. Rachel was not known for being impulsive.

"I'm alright. I love you too." Rachel assured.

"Be careful. Keep me updated. Take pictures and have some…oranges or something."

Rachel chuckled. Her phone was a searing block of metal by the time she dropped it back into her bag. She glanced around at her surroundings-water to her right, small sand dunes and condos to her left-satisfied with the lesser number of people.

There were families, surfers, couples- but not unruly, heedless crowds jockeying for position.

Rachel nodded to herself, turned to walk closer to the water, and promptly tripped over something hard and dropped all of her belongings. She landed ungracefully on her knees in the sand and her sunglasses slipped forward off her nose.

It was fiberglass, a surfboard. The tail of a shortboard, actually, and Rachel immediately clambered to her feet, huffing and puffing and brushing the sand from her knees. She scooped up her bag and caught the owner of the board out of the corner of her eye.

"You know, you should move your surfboard." Rachel suggested shortly, annoyed, mostly because she was now delayed and her feet were burning in the sand. And nobody was leaping up to help her.

The owner of the board sat next to it, wearing faded red lifeguard shorts and a white t-shirt. Aviators hid her eyes. When Rachel finally focused on her, she noticed sunny blonde hair and a slightly amused smile.

"It's clear that people are walking here." Rachel blustered, not having anticipated such a face. "You should move it out of traffic."

The woman's smile never faltered. "There's a whole beach they can use."

Her voice was low and clear and light, and Rachel was surprised again.

"Well…yes, but…" Rachel rubbed her foot where she'd caught the surfboard and pouted a little bit.

"I think you're alright." The woman mused.

Rachel narrowed her eyes. She wished she could see behind those sunglasses, see whose eyes owned that smile. She huffed and shook her head and stalked away muttering "inconsiderate bitch" because she hadn't come to Florida to argue with beautiful, belligerent surfers.

Quinn chuckled at the name.

Quinn had seen her coming from a hundred yards away. Shuffling quickly and clumsily through the sand in her pretty little sundress and pink flip-flops and oversized sunglasses. Dark hair, bronze legs, lithe body.

Quinn leaned back with her palms in the sand and watched the woman dump all her stuff near the water. She bit her cheek when the small woman kicked off her flip-flops, fidgeted in place for a second, and then bounced quickly over to the wet, cool sand.

But then she pulled the white sundress over her head, revealing a dark blue bikini, and the air seemed to stick in Quinn's throat. She coughed discreetly and watched with interest, amused smile still playing on her lips.

The waves were flat today, which is why Quinn was lounging in the sand instead of paddling out. The dark-haired woman with beautiful legs still seemed wary of the choppy whitewater rolling up the shore. She carefully moved out into the water, picking her feet up high with every step and jumping back when she was splashed.

Quinn bit her lip and tilted her head.

Rachel enjoyed the cool water. She walked out until it was waist high, and then quickly ducked her head under the surface. She emerged and slicked back her hair and coughed a little bit, and she scanned the area for predators-big dorsal fins mostly-before relaxing and floating in the water.

The only thing she noticed was the blonde with the surfboard, who looked like she hadn't moved an inch.

She was probably high or something. That's what surfers did, right? Rachel let herself float around for ten minutes, doggy-paddling absently when she felt herself drift too far.

She was standing up and observing other people in the water when she was hit with an intense, sharp, stinging pain along her right leg. She gasped and jumped in shock, moving instinctively backwards, but the burning only moved to the back of her leg.

Rachel's heart hammered wildly. It was like her limb had caught fire. Some kind of exotic shark?

She stood absolutely still, trying not to panic and pressing her nails into her palm because it hurt, and she finally spotted the small blue-tinged, air-filled sac floating behind her.

Rachel assumed it was a jellyfish. She surged forward, a little light-headed now, and when she left the water she surged straight up the sand to the blonde with the faded lifeguard shorts.

They seemed authentic enough.

"Hi, Miss? I think I'm-I need help, or-or direction, please." Rachel babbled breathlessly, looming and dripping over the blonde woman. She dug her fingers into her thigh.

Quinn surveyed her calmly, still leaning back in the sand. She plucked off her sunglasses and set them on her board. Rachel was struck by sparkling, knowing hazel eyes.

"What makes you think I can help?" Quinn raised an eyebrow.

Rachel pointed desperately at her shorts. "You're-you're a lifeguard, right?"

"No, actually."

"Look, I'm sorry I called you an inconsiderate bitch, but there's no need to lie. I need-"

"I'm not a lifeguard." Quinn said slowly, emphatically. She looked up into pained brown eyes. "These aren't mine."

Rachel was confused and not in the mood for this. She felt ready to tip over. "You're wearing somebody else's shorts?"

The blonde woman hummed.

Rachel stared for a second, unsure of what to do, but her eyes were watering from the pain now and her head was getting dizzier, so she spun unsteadily to find somebody who could actually help her. She was a few feet away when she felt a hand on her arm.

"What's your name?" Quinn wondered, not unkindly, guiding her back towards the water.

"What are you-Rachel. I'm Rachel."

Quinn smiled slightly. "Well, Rachel, you've been stung by a man 'o war. It's like a jellyfish."

And it had left angry, red welts in long lines, wrapping around her leg from mid-thigh to her knee. They burned and stung and shot pain up to her head.

"I…have?" Rachel frowned and let this woman lead her to wherever she needed to be. Her cool hands felt nice on Rachel's hot skin. "So, do we need to-to _urinate_ on it?"

Rachel loudly whispered the word and Quinn's lips quirked in amusement.

"Or find some vinegar? Where are you taking me and how do you know what to do if you're not a lifeguard?"

Quinn shook her head and stopped Rachel when they were calf-deep in the water. "Salt water and then hot water. Vinegar makes everything worse with man 'o war stings."

It could also provoke hemorrhaging, but Rachel seemed like the type to panic if she was provided with that kind of information. Quinn would see what was happening and then decide if Rachel needed emergency assistance.

"What's your name?" Rachel asked, noticing that her own voice had grown in pitch as the pain increased. She fidgeted and watched this blonde stranger douse her leg with salt water.

"Just hold still, Rachel."

Rachel dug her toes into the sand. "What's your name?"

Quinn sighed. She was a persistent little thing. "Call me Quinn."

"But is that your name?"

"Sure."

Rachel narrowed her eyes.

Quinn straightened up and rested a hand on Rachel's forearm and watched her seriously. "Do you have any allergies, Rachel? Any trouble breathing? Feel like you might faint?"

Droplets rolled down from Rachel's hairline as she shook her head slowly.

Quinn lifted an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"Positive." Rachel clipped.

Quinn noticed she was shaking slightly, and decided that they needed hot water sooner rather than later. It would denature the toxins and take away some of Rachel's pain.

"Can you walk?" she asked, voice gentler now. "Just…less than a mile?"

Rachel hummed vaguely. She didn't really know. All she could focus on was the burning in her leg.

"Yes or no, Rachel."

She shifted her gaze to concerned hazel eyes. "I-yes. I can walk. Quinn."

Quinn searched her face for a moment. She nodded and wrapped a strong arm around Rachel's shoulders, and then led her quickly back up the beach. She tucked her shortboard under her arm and guided Rachel towards the beach access path.

"What-what about my stuff?" Rachel questioned, twisting to see where she'd dropped her bag.

"Did you bring anything valuable?"

Quinn knew the answer already. Of course that overstuffed bag would be filled with valuable goodies-phone, iPod, Kindle. Rachel seemed like the type.

"Well, yeah." Rachel answered.

Quinn sighed and stopped walking. "Okay, stay here."

Rachel watched her jog back to where she'd left her belongings. Quinn moved lightly over the sand, hair shining, board tucked easily under her arm. She stuffed Rachel's towel and flip flops haphazardly into the bag, slung it over her shoulder, and then jogged back to where she'd left Rachel.

Rachel realized that Quinn didn't have any shoes. Not even a towel. All she'd had was her surfboard.

"You probably got sand over everything." Rachel complained-brow furrowed-when Quinn returned.

Quinn scoffed. "Inconsiderate bitch, right?" she muttered and seized Rachel's forearm to guide her up the beach access path.

Rachel winced. "No, that's-sorry. I'm sorry."

Quinn shrugged easily.

"Where are you taking me?" Rachel wondered, now wary that maybe she shouldn't be following a complete stranger around. Quinn was calm and confident, and it was comforting, but she could also be psychotic.

"Hot water."

Rachel side-eyed her as they walked down the path between a condo complex and a parking lot. "Where's the hot water?"

"This way." Quinn bit her cheek. She'd just met Rachel and she already enjoyed riling her up.

Rachel balked as they hit the road that ran parallel to the beach. "Look, I'm sure you just want to help, but I'm not getting into a car with you."

Quinn rolled her eyes and turned them down the sidewalk. She noticed Rachel's face was growing redder and her walk slower. She put an arm around the smaller woman's shoulders. "I'm not putting you in a car."

"Then where are we-"

"Right here." Quinn interrupted, striding purposefully into a gravel parking lot.

Rachel looked around. There was a restaurant in front of her. Bright blue wooden slats with white borders, some kind of beach café. Connected to that was a slightly taller, dark wooden-slatted building with a bright yellow face and trim. There was a small sign that read _Jupiter Surf_, a bench out front, several surfboards leaning against the wall, and a rack of drying wetsuits.

Quinn led them around the side of the building and through a squeaky yellow door into the back of the surf shop. She propped her board up next to a faded green couch and watched Rachel take in her surroundings.

It smelled like salt, seawater. Maybe rubber from wetsuits. The walls were green and fading fast and the room was small and airy. There were a couple comfortable chairs around the couch, board wax and playing cards on the coffee table, fridge and microwave in the corner.

There was sand in every crevice.

"Do you-are we allowed to be in here?" Rachel whispered.

Quinn chuckled. "I'm pretty sure, yeah."

Rachel limped a bit further into the room, and Quinn took her hand and pulled her through another doorway. They walked down a short hallway, through a bathroom, and ended at an outdoor shower.

Quinn fiddled with the water temperature while Rachel put her hands on her knees and breathed deeply.

"That's…useful, I guess. Having a shower here." Rachel mused, watching the water run down the drain.

Quinn directed the stream away from Rachel while it heated. "We're a surf shop. Of course we have a shower."

"We? So this-this is yours? You own this place?"

How had Quinn known that Rachel would latch onto that? She smiled and shrugged. "Little bit."

Rachel scoffed. "Little bit. What does that even mean?"

"It means get over here and stand under the hot water before I send you back to the beach."

Rachel opened her mouth to argue, but the pain was reaching critical levels and she thought she might actually be sick, so she shuffled over obediently. Quinn took her shoulders and turned her gently until the hot water sprayed directly onto the affected area. She ran her fingers lightly down Rachel's thigh, feeling for welts, and Rachel shivered at the cool touch.

Quinn straightened up and met Rachel's gaze.

"Now just stand here for twenty minutes, okay? The pain should start to subside." Quinn turned to walk away, biting her tongue when Rachel sputtered behind her.

"What-how-where are you going? Are you leaving me here? By myself?"

"Yes?" Quinn raised an eyebrow.

Rachel pouted. "Well, when-how will I know when it's been twenty minutes? I don't have a watch."

"Use the sun." Quinn suggested sagely.

Rachel stared, trying to figure out if she was joking.

Quinn finally smirked. "I'm just going to get you something to wear. Simmer down, Rachel Berry."

Rachel watched Quinn walk away, mouth hanging open. "I never told you my last name!" she called, but Quinn was already through the door.

Maybe she'd finally recognized Rachel. Maybe she'd known her all along. A-list superstar, Broadway diva, Rachel Barbra Berry. At least it didn't seem to impact Quinn's treatment of her. She was probably sarcastic and frustratingly vague with everybody.

Rachel stood under the hot water and sighed repeatedly, glad that the pain seemed to be fading. The sting marks became more distinct, until they looked like a violent red web. Like a net that Rachel had wrapped from her thigh to her calf.

She breathed deeply and pressed her palms into her eyes. She could feel a headache coming. She stood by herself under the hot spray for at least ten minutes.

"Are you alright?" Quinn asked, concerned. She leaned against the doorway and studied Rachel carefully.

Rachel smiled wryly. "That took longer than you said."

"I called the lifeguard tower. They're red-flagging the beach for man 'o war."

"I don't know what that means."

Quinn stepped forward and switched off the water. She held clothes in one hand and examined Rachel's welts with the other.

"It means no swimming, Miss Berry. Dangerous waters."

"Oh." Rachel's voice was small.

"Do you feel alright?" Quinn queried, tracing her eyes over Rachel's thigh. Very thoroughly. She tried to ignore the soaked, navy blue bikini bottoms. "Do you need a hospital? Or will you be okay if you just lie down? I have cream to put on it, and Benadryl."

Rachel smiled at the flush on Quinn's cheeks. "I asked you before, how do you know all this if you're not a lifeguard?"

"Who says I'm not a lifeguard?"

Rachel frowned. "You did?"

"Did I?" Quinn feigned confusion, thoroughly amused with this new person. "Rachel, tell me, do you need a hospital or not?"

"Hey, Q." A blonde head poked around the doorway, easy grin directed at Quinn's back. "How's the waves?"

"Flat and crap." Quinn answered without turning around. She handed Rachel a towel and some clothes.

The guy caught sight of Rachel and his eyes brightened. He stepped fully around the doorway and waved hello. "Have you kidnapped another one?" He directed at the back of Quinn's head. "Q, you gotta stop dragging pretty girls home."

"Shut it, Sham."

Rachel fidgeted, uncomfortable in her bikini now. Quinn noticed and stepped in front of her, and then turned around.

"Sam, get lost." She flicked water at him and he opened his mouth as if to catch it.

"Wait, you have to introduce me." He implored.

Quinn heaved an annoyed sigh. She advanced on Sam until she could fist the front of his t-shirt. "Rachel, Samson. Samson, Rachel." She bit out, pushing Sam back through the doorway.

Sam grinned and laughed and pried her fingers off his shirt. "Just Sam, Rachel! It's nice to meet you!" he shouted. He walked backwards down the hall and pointed at Quinn.

"Quinn, I got two sixes done this morning." He informed, slightly more seriously. "I just need to seal 'em and find some fins."

"Do what you have to do. Twin-fins." Quinn instructed shortly. "Look in the box under the register."

Sam reached the end of the hall and smirked. "She's pretty, Q." he drawled, and then stepped up through the door before she could jump him.

Quinn ground her teeth and back-tracked to the shower.

Rachel was still standing uncertainly in a little puddle of water, clothes clutched in one hand.

"Sorry." Quinn muttered, tapping her thighs. "He's actually harmless."

Rachel raised her eyebrows. "Well. At least I know your name is actually Quinn."

Quinn cut her eyes to Rachel's. "Are you going to change anytime soon? Or do you wanna stand outside half-naked for the rest of the day?"

"No need to be rude, Q." Rachel's eyes sparkled.

Quinn rolled her eyes and spun on her heel. "Holler if you pass out, Rachel Berry!" she called over her shoulder. She walked back to the lounge and cleared a tangle of surfboard leashes off the green couch. Then she located some hydrocortisone cream and Benadryl, and set them on the coffee table next to a glass of water.

She finally grabbed her board and the wax off the coffee table and settled into the worn leather chair next to the couch. She set to work, humming while waxing the deck.

"I bet they're his shorts, right?"

Rachel's voice broke into her thoughts, and Quinn twisted around to see her stepping into the lounge. She was in faded swim shorts and Jupiter Surf t-shirt.

"Excuse me?" Quinn quirked an eyebrow.

"The lifeguard shorts. Are they Sam's?"

Quinn hummed. Tiny little circles, she told herself. Focus on the tail, where her left foot had been slipping recently.

Rachel moved to sit on the couch. "Can I have a straight answer, please?" she asked sardonically. "Just one."

Quinn propped her bare feet on the coffee table. "What's the question?"

Rachel grinned. "Are you a lifeguard or not?"

Quinn tipped her head back and forth, weighing her options and observing Rachel's reaction. As expected, brown eyes rolled and sparkled with quiet laughter. Quinn bit her cheek.

"It's not a hard question." Rachel pressed.

"I am not currently a lifeguard, no." Quinn informed, back to her waxing.

Rachel opened the tube of cream and started carefully applying it to the stings. She winced every time her finger made contact. "Are you from here?" she wondered absently.

Quinn's eyes flickered over. "I don't think either of us is from here."

"Where are you from?" Rachel questioned.

"What are you doing here?" Quinn deflected. She rubbed her wax over the rails. Tiny little circles.

"I'm…taking a break." Rachel answered carefully.

Quinn nodded but didn't respond.

"And…since you know who I am, I'd appreciate if you didn't tell anybody."

Quinn shrugged. "I don't know who you are."

Rachel frowned. "But you knew my last name."

"You told me."

"No, I didn't!"

Quinn ran her tongue over her teeth and focused on not laughing. She looked up and met Rachel's eyes, serious expression fixed on her face. "Simmer down, Rachel Berry. I won't tell anybody."

Rachel's mouth opened and closed. She put the cream back on the table, opened the Benadryl, and settled back into the couch, scowling.

"Take a nap, Rachel." Quinn glanced up from her board. "Get your head on straight. The headache and dizziness will go away soon."

Rachel stared hard at her.

"I won't leave you alone." Quinn added, in a softer tone because she could see the angry red lines on Rachel's thigh and knew how painful they were.

The corners of Rachel's lips pulled up slightly. "I don't know if I believe you."

Quinn ignored her and resumed humming. It was like a dog and a whistle. Rachel sat forward, eyes bright and alert, and Quinn observed this new behavior curiously.

"Dean Martin." Rachel declared, almost surprised. She watched Quinn's toes tap the coffee table and traced her eyes up well-muscled thighs past red shorts to Quinn's face.

Quinn smiled slightly.

"You're-that's a classic. You have good taste. Musical taste, at least."

"Take a nap, Rachel Berry." Quinn rolled her eyes.

Rachel seemed more willing to comply now that she'd decided Quinn wasn't some kind of uncultured, pothead surfer. She huffed quietly and lay down with her head on the arm, mussing up her curly wet hair.

Quinn watched out of the corner of her eye. Tiny, tiny circles, focus on the tail, no more slipping.

…..

Rachel woke up and rolled over and whined at the immediate throbbing pain in her thigh. She pressed her face against the back of the couch and waited for the nausea to pass. There was a light blanket draped over her, which definitely hadn't been there when she'd fallen asleep.

"There's a bucket on the floor." Quinn said lowly, across the room.

Rachel turned over as slowly as possible and blinked her eyes open.

Quinn winced sympathetically. She was sitting on the floor, wearing glasses and nursing a beer and dealing with an abundance of spreadsheets. "And there's Aspirin and water." She added. "Don't hurl on my couch."

"It didn't hurt this much before." Rachel whined.

Quinn stood up and nodded. "The shock's worn off. Man 'o wars are bad, Rachel. You're lucky you didn't need a hospital."

Quinn was still keeping an eye on Rachel's neck, making sure nothing was swelling up, no full-body rash forming. She hadn't totally ruled out taking Rachel to the hospital, but there was no need to worry her. She crossed the room and pulled the blanket away from Rachel, and then sat on the couch by Rachel's knees.

"It's not…too swollen." She observed quietly, brushing her fingers over the long, winding welts.

Rachel shivered and tensed at the touch, and Quinn moved her hand away.

"And it's not-you know-violently red." Quinn caught Rachel's gaze. "You'll probably have a rash for a week, and then-I mean-hopefully the stings won't leave scars."

Rachel nodded.

Quinn stared at her for another second, and Rachel moved her hand self-consciously up to her humidity and salt-water-curled hair. Quinn smiled slightly and stood up again.

Rachel sat up and eyed the red web on her thigh. "What time is it?"

"Five. You talked a little in your sleep." And if Quinn was being honest, it was charming.

"Somniloquy." Rachel smiled. "I'm a very verbal person."

"Yeah. Noticed that."

Rachel exhaled sharply and looked around the room for her stuff.

"Under the coffee table." Quinn supplied, foraging through the fridge for something to eat. Her employees were wolves who cleaned her out when she stocked up on any kind of food with the slightest appeal. She emerged with a cheese stick and held it up for Rachel, unsurprised when Rachel shook her head.

Rachel cleared her throat and ran a hand through her wildly curled hair. "I guess I'll…How far did we walk? Can I walk back to my hotel from here?"

"I're wog you 'ome." Quinn said around a mouthful of cheese.

Rachel stared at her.

"S'not far." Quinn added.

"You don't have to do that, really." Rachel assured. She stood up and waited for the room to stop spinning before gathering up her things. "Thank you for everything."

Quinn rolled her eyes and shoved the rest of the cheese stick into her mouth. She crossed the room and took the bag off Rachel's shoulder, and then gestured for Rachel to follow her. They went out the side door, right into the warm, thick air of early evening, and Quinn strode purposefully across the gravel parking lot to the sidewalk.

Rachel hurried to keep up. "Really, Quinn, you don't have to do this."

"Rachel, if you go alone and get yourself kidnapped between here and your hotel, I'm the last one who saw you alive. I can't have that on my conscience."

Rachel nearly walked into a light pole.

"Head on straight, Rachel Berry?"

"I'm…yes, fine."

Quinn smiled to herself and slowed down to Rachel's pace.

"How long have you lived here?" Rachel wondered, eyeing Quinn's bare feet. Quinn seemed like an easy presence-a toes in the sand, surfing on a hot night kind of girl. Wise, constantly amused hazel eyes tinged with sadness. But she was so evasive about everything that Rachel would never know.

Quinn shrugged. "Years."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Well…I like your shop. It's charming."

Quinn narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Flattery would get Rachel nowhere. She'd built a wall against it many years ago, and accepted nothing from anybody on the other side.

"It is what it is."

"Your non-answers are annoying." Rachel stated bluntly.

Quinn ignored her.

"Are you-I don't think you're married, unless you're the new age type who doesn't wear a ring? Do you have a boyfriend? A partner?"

"Do you?" Quinn shot back.

Rachel sputtered, not really expecting that and having no idea how to answer it. She skipped to the next question. "Where are you from originally?"

"Candyland." Quinn drawled.

Rachel assumed that wasn't a valid answer. "Do you like Jupiter?"

"Nothing beats Candyland, Rachel."

"How long have you been surfing?"

Quinn turned them up the drive to Rachel's hotel and glanced down at Rachel's thigh, making sure it wasn't flaming up from the walk.

"How long have you been acting?" she countered, and then cursed herself internally. Stupid, stupid. Keep to tiny little circles.

Rachel gasped with success. "See! I knew you knew who I was! I knew I never told you my last name!"

Quinn moved through the automatic doors into the hotel lobby. It was large and vaulted and airy, and she glanced around at the well-dressed staff and marble fixtures.

"Fancy." She mouthed, uncomfortable in her bare feet.

Rachel glanced at her toes and smiled up at her.

"So…get some ice." Quinn instructed. "I'm sure one of these…dapper young folk can help you with that. Ice your leg for the pain, then do Aspirin if ice isn't enough. If some kind of horrible rash forms, or your leg falls off or something, go to the hospital. Red flags should be gone by tomorrow if you want to swim; they never stay up long."

Rachel nodded along. "Thank you, Quinn. I don't know anybody here, so just-thank you for everything."

Quinn nodded uncomfortably. She ran a hand through her hair and rocked back on her heels, already shuffling slowly towards the doors.

"Keep your head on straight, Rachel Berry. Enjoy your stay."

Quinn left with a smile and a wave, and breathed a sigh of relief when her feet hit the warm pavement outside.


	2. Chapter 2

**Ain't That a Kick in the Head**

**Chapter 2**

Sam leaned over the counter next to the register and watched Quinn glue together a traction pad that had come off the tail of his shortboard that morning. He rolled a hacky sack in his hand and tapped it against the counter.

"You know, you can just have a new one." Quinn mumbled, brow furrowed.

Sam shrugged. "You're not exactly Ron Jon's here."

"And thank fucking God for that." Santana emerged from the back room with an overflowing pile of spring suits in her arms. She dumped them on the counter next to Quinn and panted loudly.

Quinn ignored her. "This is pretty shoddy." She admitted, running her fingers along the glue job. She knew it would come apart right down the middle. Sam liked to carve up the crests like an agile little rabbit.

"If it comes off again, I'll stick it back on."

Quinn nodded, satisfied. "You're an easy man, Sham."

"And it's disgusting." Santana added absently. She was now checking all the tags on the wetsuits and sorting them by size. Child sizes on the back of Quinn's chair, adult sizes draped over the counter.

"Do you really need to do that in here?" Quinn irritably elbowed a small pile out of her way.

"Mike went for coffee. I need entertainment."

Sam brightened. "Oh, hey, Quinn had a girl here yesterday!"

Quinn shut her eyes. Santana locked right onto her target. A dog with a bone, a baby with a rattle.

"Did she?" she proclaimed, smiling at Quinn. "Who was she? Was she cute, Samson?"

Sam grinned. "Oh yeah, man."

Quinn grumbled to herself. She was getting glue on her fingers like a kindergartener with an art project. Stupid moron employees. She never should have hired these people

"That's good, Q. Little baby's growing up. You should go on some dates, meet some more girls."

"Get lost." Quinn muttered.

"Quinn doesn't do random girls." Sam supplied helpfully.

Santana scoffed. "Quinn doesn't do _any_ girls. Lookin' for love, right Luce?"

"Shut the hell up." Quinn bit out without looking up. She dug her fingers into the traction pad to see if the glue had dried yet.

Santana chuckled. "Seriously, who was the girl?"

"Her name was Ra-"

"She's nobody." Quinn interrupted sharply, seizing the hacky sack from Sam's grasp before he could blink. "She tripped over my surfboard, called me an inconsiderate bitch, and then got herself stung by a man 'o war. Now get back to work."

She tossed the hacky sack into the adjoining section of the shop, where surfboards were lined up in long, close rows like bookcases, and Sam chased eagerly after it. Quinn tapped her fingers along her thigh.

Santana sighed. Quinn could feel her gaze on the side of her head. She ground her teeth and looked up, if only to tell Santana to get lost. Santana's stare didn't waver.

"The last one told me I was a head case." Quinn said lowly, eyebrow quirked. She was actually surprised that it came out of her mouth and she flushed slightly. "I-that's-I don't need that."

"She wasn't totally wrong."

"Just…fuck off." Quinn said without any real malice.

Santana smiled and started picking through the wetsuits again. "Maybe one day. If it's any consolation, I don't think you're completely crazy. Even when you don't wear shoes and dress like a goddamn hobo."

"Well, doesn't that make me all fuzzy inside."

Quinn peeled a layer of glue off her palm and wondered when she could hit the beach again.

…

Rachel strolled past the pier and discreetly eyed the people in the water from under her wide-brimmed, straw sunhat. She had nothing with her this time-not even her phone-but she had no plans to go in the water. The glaring, unattractive web of red lines on her thigh was warning enough.

She walked because she had nothing better to do. Nothing to squash her curiosity.

Shortly past the pier, Rachel spotted a shining blonde head bobbing out in the water. Rachel smiled to herself and plopped right down in the sand, careful to keep her hat pulled low. She crossed her legs at the ankles, leaned back on her palms, and watched.

Quinn didn't seem to be doing much. Just lolling around in the swells, balancing on her surfboard underwater to keep herself entertained.

Maybe that was all a part of surfing. Rachel didn't know. She'd be bored out of her mind or caught in some kind of riptide by now.

Quinn started paddling abruptly, gliding right through the water and moving with the growing swell. She was a penguin. The wave broke-only about head high-and she dropped smoothly in, black rashguard pushed up and clinging wetly to her abdomen.

Rachel recognized the faded red shorts from the day before. Strong legs, full thighs crouched low as Quinn made a bottom turn. Her hair whipped around as she crossed the face, and then she slashed the lip of the wave and kicked out of the top before it turned into whitewater.

Rachel sat in the sand, wide-eyed, barely secure in her own grasp of the doggy paddle.

Quinn paddled quickly, powered by the familiar adrenaline rush. She wanted to get one last ride on this set before the daily summer storms moved in. Everything was breaking so beautifully and cleanly, and she couldn't help but smile.

The last wave was the biggest, and Quinn carved up the face and tagged the lip simply before riding it all the way in. She bailed when she hit the whitewater and let it carry her the rest of the way. Then she tucked her board easily under her arm, shook out her hair, and jogged up the beach.

"Hey Rachel Berry." She called, smiling. "Nice hat."

Rachel flushed and got nonchalantly to her feet, taking care to brush every grain of sand from her dress and legs. When she looked up, Quinn was standing right in front of her. Chest heaving lightly, rashguard clinging in all the right places, shorts twisted a little to the side.

"How's your leg?" Quinn asked breathlessly, dropping her eyes to Rachel's thigh.

Rachel struggled to find words. "I-it hurts a bit. Like a burn, sort of."

"No dizziness or anything? Fallen down any stairs?"

"No." Rachel laughed.

While Quinn bent to observe Rachel's fading welts, Rachel's eyes landed on Quinn's legs. She was surprised to find several scars-one large, running from her left thigh to her calf, and countless others, jagged and criss-crossing and barely visible in the sun.

Rachel quickly diverted her eyes to Quinn's surfboard. She jumped when cold fingers pressed against her leg.

"Sorry." Quinn said quickly. "Checking for numbness."

"Oh, I-yeah, I don't think-I mean, I can feel everything." Rachel babbled.

Quinn tipped her head. "Then I can say with certainty that you'll live, Rachel. Stick it in your memoir someday. Have a nice afternoon."

Quinn started walking while Rachel was stuck on the word "memoir." She wondered how much Quinn knew of her.

"Wait!" she entreated, bouncing up next to Quinn.

Quinn side-eyed her and smiled when she realized Rachel hadn't brought any belongings.

"How long had you been sitting there?" she wondered, amused.

Rachel scoffed. "I'll answer no further questions of yours until you answer mine."

Somehow Quinn doubted that would last long.

"Let me take you to lunch." Rachel suggested, walking close enough to Quinn that her giant sunhat was dislodged by Quinn's shoulder.

"Just as a thank you. You can shower-or do whatever you do-" Rachel waved a hand vaguely through the air and Quinn bit her cheek, "And I'll go back to my room and get those clothes you let me borrow so I can give them back."

"You don't need to give those back. We have hundreds."

"But…you'll let me buy you lunch?" Rachel checked hopefully.

It was a horrible, awful idea. A gateway to dangerous things.

"If I answer your question, you have to answer one of mine." Quinn challenged.

Rachel clapped her hands together and stumbled a little in the sand. Quinn stopped walking and stood in front of Rachel. She set her shortboard in the sand and rested her hands and chin on the nose of it, observing Rachel with a casually arched brow.

She looked so pleased. Quinn could probably snap her fingers and make her jump.

"What are you doing in Jupiter, Rachel Berry?"

It was one of the few questions Rachel couldn't answer completely. Her eyes flickered from Quinn's steady gaze to the pier in the background.

"I'm taking a break." She said slowly. "In…another world, sort of."

"Why?"

She really couldn't answer that one. Quinn's lips were twitching like she wasn't expecting her to anyway.

Rachel smiled. "So where are we going for lunch?"

…..

Quinn sat across from Rachel-hair damp and loose in a button down shirt and rolled up pants-in a booth at the café next to her shop. She'd suggested the place mostly so that she wouldn't have to walk anywhere else. A good surf session always left her with aching legs and shortness of breath.

She ran a hand through her hair to stop it from dripping onto her shoulders and stared patiently at Rachel.

Rachel examined the menu carefully. Nothing really jumped out at her. Burgers, sandwiches, chicken fingers-nothing she could eat.

"The cheddar bacon burger's nice." Quinn remarked, watching for Rachel's reaction.

Rachel visibly blanched, and Quinn's lips tipped up, intrigued.

"I think the-I think I'll have the house salad." Rachel stated. She daintily folded up the worn menu and met Quinn's curious gaze.

"I don't think you want the house salad."

Rachel opened her mouth.

Quinn ran a hand through her wet hair again and leaned forward. Rachel spied a small silver cross dangling in the opening of her shirt.

"What's your favorite food, Rachel?"

"I…I like Italian food." She answered, obviously suspicious.

Of course she'd pick one of the two things this place couldn't provide. Quinn was stumped for only a moment. She lifted her hand and hailed the owner of the little café over.

"Hey Quinn!" the woman greeted, and Rachel was struck by her blue eyes.

Quinn smiled. "Britt, how are you?"

"Oh, you know," Brittany drawled, winking at Rachel, "burning things, feeding the masses. Lost a pen this morning and found it in an omelet. I'm sure Tubby put it there."

"So it goes." Quinn nodded sagely.

Brittany pulled out her pen and tapped it enthusiastically on the table.

"I'll have my usual please, Britt, with a strawberry shake, and my-this is Rachel, by the way." Quinn paused and remembered her manners.

Brittany nodded and waved down at Rachel.

"For her-do you remember that zesty Italian pasta thing you made for me once? It had, like…carrots in it, served cold, lots of flavor."

Brittany hummed delightedly. "It's unforgettable, Q."

"Yeah, can she have that, please?"

"Of course she can!" Brittany nodded happily and walked backwards and pointed her pen at Rachel. "Coming right up, sweetie."

Rachel chuckled. She was certainly enthusiastic. The whole place was nice, sort of tucked away with the same feel as Quinn's shop. Squeaky floorboards, sun-bleached paint, clean and worn and saltwater-scented.

Quinn picked shiny bits of sand off her forearm and decided that she needed to be more thorough in her showering from now on.

"I didn't mean to make it difficult. I'm-I'm vegan. I mean, I've had to resort to vegetarian options while I've been here and I don't mind at all, and I'd still-I'd be absolutely fine with a salad."

Quinn sat back in the booth, tipped her head-eyes smiling-and let Rachel babble.

"I'm trying not to be a…nuisance."

Rachel had made a conscious decision before she left to keep to herself from now on. One small circle. She was already toeing the line.

Quinn's gaze never wavered.

Rachel fidgeted-God, she needed to control her rambling-and then glanced under the table and smiled slightly.

"Do you ever wear shoes?"

Quinn bobbed her head vaguely and shifted until her feet were propped on the seat next to Rachel. Rachel observed them like they were flea-ridden stray cats and lifted the rolled up hem of Quinn's green pants to lower them back down.

Quinn sighed like she was being put out. She gazed at Rachel again, having been interrupted when she was trying to gauge her reaction before.

At first thought, it seemed like Rachel would revel in the attention. Quinn liked to experiment.

"You must have a car, right? Do you drive barefoot? Do your grocery shopping with no shoes on?"

"I have shoes." Quinn shrugged.

"But do you wear them?"

Quinn sat forward and rested her chin in her hand, eyebrow raised.

Rachel faltered slightly. "What is-is that an answer?"

Quinn had to work to keep a straight face.

Rachel glanced around uncomfortably. She was all too aware of her curly, humid hair-she'd lost control of that the second she landed in Florida-and the slight red burn over her cheeks. She wasn't wearing make-up and she tucked her unruly hair behind her ears self-consciously.

"I know I don't-I know I look bad right now. I'm not always so unprepared."

Quinn frowned, surprised. She watched Rachel play with the salt shaker.

"You're not the girl from the movies." She mused.

God dammit. Quinn shook her head as soon as it came out of her mouth. Rachel's eyes lit slightly at the thought that Quinn had seen her perform.

"What does that mean?" Rachel asked hesitantly.

Quinn contemplated just shutting up, but Rachel's eyes were wide-like Quinn could knock her down with a single word-so she couldn't just ignore the girl.

Quinn shrugged, playing it down. "Curls suit you, Rachel Berry."

Rachel smiled and shook her head. "Why do you do that?"

Quinn lifted a brow.

"You use my full name."

"Memory problems. Exposure therapy. I have to keep repeating it."

Rachel laughed loudly. "You're such a liar."

Quinn was stuck on that unexpected sound. Her eyes widened slightly, her lips quirked, her heart beat a little quicker. She realized she was staring at Rachel's mouth-full, pink lips-and shook herself out of her reverie.

Their food came-with a flourish and extra pickles from Brittany-and Quinn dug in. Rachel followed suit once she realized that Quinn ate like a wolf and would probably be finished quickly.

Quinn snuck glances to make sure Rachel was enjoying her food, not just forcing it down to prevent herself from being a "nuisance." Rachel ate intently, thoughtfully, and about halfway through her plate of pasta she looked up at Quinn with challenging eyes.

"I'd like you to hire me, Quinn. Give me a job in your shop."

Quinn's mouth hung open dumbly.

"I can provide a résumé of course-though I have to admit I've never delved into retail before-and I can give you phone numbers for references if you'd like. I am a very fast learner, Quinn, and a more competent than average person."

Quinn put her burger down slowly and wiped her hands on a napkin. "Where-how long have you been thinking of that?"

"About five minutes."

Rachel sat forward abruptly like maybe she shouldn't have answered with that. "Not that I'm an overly impulsive person. I'm actually very reliable."

Admittedly, she was leaning more towards spontaneity these days.

"And you just…want me to give you a job." Quinn clarified, eyebrow raised.

She was actually mulling it over. Sam was busy shaping boards these days and she wouldn't be able to run the shop with only Mike and Santana when the Jupiter Pro-Am surf contest hit town.

Rachel bit her lip and searched Quinn's face. "I can commit to two months."

A thought occurred to Quinn. She narrowed her eyes. "If you want to work, why don't you just go home?"

"I don't-I'm not ready yet." Rachel admitted, swirling a straw around her glass. "It's more about having a distraction than working. All there is to do here is go to the beach, and I think I'm going to stay out of the water for a while."

Quinn shook her head. "You need to get right back on that horse, Rachel Berry."

"How about you give me a job and teach me to surf instead of paying me?" Rachel suggested on a whim. It would be another talent to add to her résumé, and she smiled to herself, pleased with the idea.

Quinn tapped her thighs, smirking slightly at the thought of teaching Rachel to surf.

She calmly picked up her burger and took a bite, eyes purposely focused anywhere but on Rachel. She chewed slowly and gave nothing away in her expression while she mulled everything over.

Again, it was a horrible, awful idea, and nowhere near close to tiny little circles. Quinn considered the logistics, the hours, Santana's antagonistic tendencies and Sam's big mouth. It came down to the fact that the Jupiter Pro-Am packed her shop every year and she needed people to run it-something Rachel would apparently do for free.

"It's not, like…hanging out on the beach every day." Quinn warned, hand over her mouth.

Rachel nodded quickly.

"It's sandy, tedious sometimes, lots of paperwork. Maybe heavy lifting if I put you on inventory or with the boards."

Quinn had already made her decision. She watched Rachel's behavior, amused.

"And all I have to do is teach you how to surf?"

Rachel hummed eagerly. "You don't even have to be successful at it. Just try."

Quinn chuckled and shook her head. She reached for her milkshake. "Fine, Rachel Berry. Tomorrow, eight a.m. Don't be late."

Rachel's delighted laughter bubbled up and Quinn hid her mouth behind her strawberry shake.

…..

"You got a job? Rachel, you make seven figures a year!"

"It's not because I need it, Tina." Rachel said earnestly. She sat on her bed and held the phone with one hand so that she could apply cream to her fading sting marks with the other. She was making a nice mess of it all.

"It's just to occupy my time. You know I enjoy trying new things."

Tina made some kind of disgruntled hum.

"And it's with people who-they aren't Hollywood people. They're not in show business, they're not performers. It will be a nice experience."

"You don't even know this woman's last name, sweetie."

It was something Rachel had realized when she'd reached her hotel. Probably a major oversight, unless Quinn had done it purposely. Left her in the dark. Rachel wouldn't be surprised.

"That just screams illegal." Tina pressed.

Rachel smudged ointment in her hair and sighed in frustration. "I will find out her last name."

"Good. Great. Now what else do you know about her?"

She doesn't wear shoes, she's fond of sarcasm, she has a perfect smile and wise eyes and a shop as charming as she is. Rachel thought of the scars she'd seen, Quinn's non-answers.

"Why don't you come and visit me and you can see for yourself?" Rachel deflected.

Tina was silent for a moment. Rachel took the opportunity to walk to the bathroom mirror and wipe the cream out of her hair.

"Do you-are you serious?" Tina finally asked. "I can come visit? I've never been to Florida before."

"Of course you can. It's not you I was trying to get away from."

"Well…I might just do that." Tina sounded much brighter than she had when Rachel had first answered the phone. "And speaking of-Kurt won't stop calling me. Have you talked to him yet?"

"Absolutely not. He needs to settle down before we have this discussion."

"So you still haven't told anybody why you left. You know he's your friend as well as your manager, right?"

Rachel screwed the cap on the ointment with one hand and tossed the smudged, messy tube in the sink. She fanned her leg absently because it was still a little warm. "I know."

Rachel knew Tina was waiting for some kind of explanation. She really didn't want to give her one at the moment.

"Tina, I need to say goodnight now. I have to be at the shop by eight."

"Rachel Berry working at a surf shop." Tina chuckled. "What if people recognize you?"

"I will jump off that bridge when I come to it." Rachel said confidently.

It was only a matter of time. Rachel laid out her outfit and set her alarm. She'd keep her circle small and do what needed to be done. Head on straight, Rachel Berry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Ain't That a Kick in the Head**

**Chapter 3**

Rachel knocked on the side door of Jupiter Surf at 7:58 a.m. The air was warm and breezy, and she'd braided her hair to keep some semblance of control over it. She opened the yellow door and stepped hesitantly inside when nobody answered.

There were blankets on the green couch, like somebody had slept there, and Rachel recognized Quinn's surfboard-dripping wet and propped precariously against a crowded bookcase.

"Quinn?" Rachel called, moving towards the hallway. "Hello?"

She spied the bathroom Quinn had taken her through previously and two other doorways. One led to the shop floor, and Rachel peered into the other, surprised to find Sam lying on the floor with one eye closed, studying the surfboard in front of him.

"Sam." Rachel chirped and smiled when he looked up.

"There she is!" He proclaimed. He gestured for her to join him and she frowned in confusion and shuffled over to kneel by the surfboard. "Alright Rachel, you gotta tell me if this looks even. 'Cause I can sand it down more, but I don't wanna sand it too much, you know."

Rachel hummed like she did know. She furrowed her brow and studied the small board, not willing to lie completely flat like Sam because of the dress she was wearing.

"I mean I'll measure it when I'm done to be sure, but this is just like the first step."

"It-I mean, it appears even." Rachel offered hesitantly. "But I'm not really sure how you can even…_tell._ Obviously I'm not well-versed in this trade."

She tilted her head and frowned at the board, ignoring the sand digging into her knees.

"That's good, that's good." Sam nodded thoughtfully. He patted the board. "I think I'll do FCS for this. It's for a kid, so better not to glass in the fins, right? I used to reef mine off all the time."

Rachel nodded blankly. She stared at Sam's bobbing blonde head. "You…reefed…what? Sorry, I'm not sure I-"

Sam glanced at her. "Oh yeah, of course!" He smiled and pushed himself up to his knees and pointed at the tail of the board. "You can either have glassed-on fins, which are permanent, or a fin control system, where the fins are removable. FCS is way more common now. You can smash up your tail in the reef without buying a new board each time."

Rachel nodded slowly, pleased that he was teaching her. Two minutes in and she'd already learned something.

"Is Quinn around?" she wondered, following suit when Sam stood up.

"In the shower, I think. Waves were breaking nice this morning."

"She's been surfing already?" Rachel was an early riser, but she couldn't fathom rolling out of bed before the sun to jump in the ocean.

Sam laughed and led her through the hallway to the shop floor. "Four a.m., dude. I don't even know if she sleeps."

"Does she live here?"

Sam bobbed his head back and forth, crossing the crowded surfboard section of the shop to get to the register. "Technically she lives with me, but she's like a nomad, so just…wherever."

"Oh yeah, Quinn's a vagabond."

Rachel turned at the new voice. It belonged to a smiling Asian guy hanging wetsuit booties on the shop wall. He bounced forward and held out his hand.

"Hey, I'm Mike."

"Rachel." She smiled brightly, intent on good first impressions.

"Holy shit, that _bitch_."

Mike's smile fell.

"_Santana_." He scolded, in a way that made it sound like it was a frequent occurrence. His eyes were fixed over Rachel's shoulder. "Control yourself."

Santana stalked towards Rachel, having come through the front doors of the shop. Dancing dark eyes, chin held high, one hand on her hip. Rachel recognized the behavior and squared her shoulders, refusing to be intimidated.

"It's fucking _Rachel Berry_. Do you dumbasses not recognize her?" Santana stared incredulously at Sam and Mike.

Sam was the only one who looked legitimately surprised.

Rachel decided to interrupt. "I'd prefer not to- I'm just Rachel here. I'm not-I'm just here to work. That's it."

Santana narrowed her eyes. Her gaze drifted away from Rachel. "Fabray, you sneaky little…"

"Why are you all clumped together like vultures?" Quinn appeared, eyebrow raised. She walked out of the surfboard area in a Jupiter Surf t-shirt and the same rolled up pants. She was still shoeless, but her wet hair was pulled back.

"Mike called you a vagabond." Sam tattled immediately.

Quinn smiled slightly and sat on a stool by a table of t-shirts. "Footloose and fancy-free."

"And Santana's a fan of Rachel's." Mike informed casually. He opened up a new box of booties to hang. "She owns all her movies. I had dinner at her house once and she said that Rachel Berry was one of the few legitimately talented people in Hollywood."

Santana made a garbled noise of protest.

Rachel found herself smiling at her feet, suddenly shy.

"Shut it, Chang!" Santana shouted from the register. Her cheeks were flushed-embarrassment or anger, Rachel couldn't be sure. Santana turned on Quinn. "What the hell is wrong with you, Q? You can't at least mention that the girl's Rachel Berry?"

Rachel watched Quinn calmly checking the tags on a stack of shirts.

"What? Who's Rachel Berry?" Quinn asked without looking up.

Rachel smiled to herself.

Santana opened a magazine and faced the wall behind the register, arms folded. She was finished with them, apparently.

"I was going to give Rachel a tour." Sam announced proudly.

Quinn nodded and coughed a bit, hand over her chest. Santana spun around at the sound and watched her silently.

"There's not much to see." Quinn said, voice a little raspy.

"A verbal tour." Sam amended. He put an arm around Rachel's shoulders and pointed at the open front door. "This is a door. It's where the customers come from. We stick boards out there usually. We've got way too many to keep 'em all inside."

He swiveled to the left and pointed at the front desk. "There's the register. We have apparel and accessories in this room-you know, Jupiter Surf clothing, flip-flops, leashes, traction pads, all those goodies. And then the next one is the board room. All the boards are for sale, some new, some used."

Rachel nodded. Quinn caught her eye and flashed a smile.

"In the back we have the lounge, the stockroom, the bathroom, and the shaping room-where we were earlier."

"That's Sham's room." Quinn added. "Nobody else is allowed."

Sam grinned. "Your words, Fabray."

"Is that your name?" Rachel asked.

Quinn caught Rachel's eye, pursed her lips, and nodded shortly. No denying it now. She stifled another cough and took a deep breath and went back to sorting the clothes. Rachel smiled triumphantly.

"Water?" Santana asked emphatically, staring hard at the back of Quinn's head.

"There's an ocean of it right in front of you." Quinn countered.

"Look, if you're gonna start your wheezy, raspy, cough-y stuff, you need to, like…get your ass back in bed or take some-"

Quinn twisted quickly and cut her eyes at Santana.

Santana shook her head seriously and held up her hands. Rachel observed the interaction. It was like a silent battle of wills, and she was completely in the dark. Sam sighed and patted Quinn's head and then took Rachel's hand.

"Come on. I'll show you how we re-stock."

….

Quinn ambled calmly along the beach and watched Rachel out of the corner of her eye. Rachel was obviously having problems dragging along the nine-foot soft-top surfboard, staggering sideways a bit and groaning under her breath, but trying to be discreet about it. Quinn paused for a second and picked up the tail of the board when Rachel passed.

She tucked that under one arm with her shortboard under the other.

"I can do it myself!" Rachel protested, trying to walk faster to get Quinn to drop the tail.

Quinn snorted slightly. "I'm sure you can. Slow down, Rachel."

"Why do I have to have a gigantic board?" Rachel whined. "I want a small one like yours."

"As you get better your board will get smaller."

Rachel tried to twist her head around to see Quinn while they walked, which sent them both staggering diagonally. Quinn shook her head and stopped walking until Rachel straightened up again.

"Why don't you decorate yours with stickers?" Rachel wondered. Quinn's board was white. It had three fins, wax on the deck, and a broad blue stripe going up the right side. There was a small black "B" design near the nose.

"It's fine how it is."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "What's the 'B' for?"

"Bacon." Quinn said drolly, not missing a beat.

It was like bashing her head repeatedly into a wall. Rachel was gaining absolutely no information. She sighed and walked quietly until Quinn told her to stop. They were a bit further from the pier than where Quinn usually surfed. The outer break was flat, but the whitewater was strong and consistent, perfect for a beginner.

Quinn lined up their boards in the sand while Rachel pulled off her sundress, revealing a dark green bikini this time. Quinn tossed her a pink rashguard.

"I don't get to try a wetsuit?" Rachel was disappointed.

"Sure, if you want a heat stroke. Florida's too hot for them."

Rachel hummed and examined the article of clothing. "I like the pink." She murmured before pulling it over her head.

"You don't really need one for a foam board because they're so soft, but since it's your first time it would be pretty easy to make your belly raw. You don't need wax either, so we're skipping that step."

Quinn ran out of breath and coughed, and then wheezed when she inhaled.

Rachel bit her lip. "Are you alright?"

Quinn held up a hand. She pulled her t-shirt over her head, leaving her in short boardies and a blue bikini top. Rachel's eyes drifted lower-right over Quinn's sunny, toned abdomen-and then she blushed and swallowed and looked away. But she noticed more scars-a long straight one extending from Quinn's shoulder around her side to her belly button, and a few jagged ones against her ribs.

Rachel knew she'd get nothing if she inquired about them.

"Okay Rachel, this is a surfboard." Quinn crouched down next to her shortboard and looked up to make sure Rachel was paying attention. "Mine's a shortboard, yours is a foamie. It has a nose, a tail, a stringer down the middle, fins, and the sides are called rails. The leash is so when you bail or get rolled out the board doesn't go and knock anybody unconscious, okay?"

Rachel nodded smartly. "And the fins are either removable or glassed on." She recited.

Quinn looked up at her, impressed. "Sam?"

"He taught me this morning."

Quinn wasn't surprised. Sam liked sharing everything-smiles, surfboards, knowledge, food.

"Now, to practice the pop-up, you need to lie on the board, toes on the tail." Quinn watched Rachel get into position. She found she had to forcibly drag her gaze away from the backs of Rachel's thighs.

"Move your arms like you're paddling." Quinn demonstrated, still crouched by her own board. "And then grab the rails, push yourself into a push-up position, bring one leg up so that you're kneeling, and then stand up if you feel balanced enough to do so."

Rachel paddled her arms, mumbling to herself and frowning in concentration. Quinn smiled.

"So…push-up position, and then…" Rachel trailed off and glanced over at Quinn.

"And then one leg up in front of you, like you're in a lunge."

Rachel complied-pushing herself up until she was kneeling on the board-and looked at Quinn again for approval.

Quinn nodded. She had to clear her throat because Rachel's legs were toned and tan and stretched out, and mildly distracting. "Now do that twenty more times." She instructed.

Rachel was small and nimble, and Quinn had no doubt that she'd be able to pop-up quickly once she got the hang of the whole balance thing.

"How long have you been doing this?" Rachel asked, brow furrowed in concentration.

"A few years." Quinn shrugged.

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Rachel popped up for the fourth time. She decided that she'd practice in her hotel room because it mostly seemed like muscle memory. "Well…you definitely know what you're doing."

Quinn tipped her head. "I make it up as I go."

"How did you start surfing?"

"How did you start acting?" Quinn crossed her ankles and leaned back in the sand and watched Rachel pop up again.

Rachel grinned. "My fathers discovered my gift when I was two months old, and I've been performing ever since."

Quinn chuckled, and then wheezed because her chest was getting tighter. Rachel paused mid-lunge to glance at her.

"Yeah, mine-my story doesn't go like that." Quinn coughed.

"Did you always want to open your own shop? Did you go to school?"

Quinn waited a moment before nodding slowly. "School, yes."

"Where did you go? What did you study?" Rachel sat on her board and shook out her arms. She decided that popping-up was more exhausting than she'd anticipated.

"Rachel Berry. You are just…" Quinn trailed off and shook her head, not really sure what exactly Rachel Berry was.

Rachel bit her lip and watched Quinn. She looked tired-lazily lounging in the sand-probably because she'd been up since four in the morning.

"You ready for the water?" Quinn asked. She sat up and crawled to where Rachel was sitting on the foam board, untangled the leash from the fins, and carefully velcroed it around Rachel's right ankle.

Her forearm brushed Rachel's calf- soft and warm and sandy. Rachel found herself flustered and flushing again.

"Your left foot goes first, which means you're regular footed." Quinn informed, standing quickly and wobbling with lightheadedness. "I'm goofy foot. My right foot is first."

Rachel chuckled. "Okay, goofy feet."

Quinn cut her eyes back to Rachel and led the way down to the water.

The first twenty minutes involved Rachel lying on the board, clinging to it for dear life while Quinn carefully pushed her so that she was catching whitewater waves. And then Quinn would stalk up to Rachel, grab the nose of the board, and pull her back out to do it again.

Once Rachel realized that she could control her speed and her direction, she started paddling to supplement Quinn's pushing.

"So your arms aren't completely useless." Quinn remarked when she noticed.

Rachel grew even more enthusiastic, rolling off her board after riding it in and then sloshing and swimming as quickly as she could back out to the thigh-high water. She attempted to pop up several times, and Quinn applauded whenever she managed to ride a wave in on her knees.

Quinn took to just floating around and watching, letting the small waves crash against the back of her legs. They were still sore from that morning. The whole day, really. It was a constant thing.

After almost an hour in the water, Rachel stood up on her board. She froze once she did it-afraid to shift at all-and clenched her fists and squealed loudly, hoping that Quinn was watching.

"Rachel Berry, you're surfing!" Quinn called, voice raw. Her arms were in the air and her hair was slicked back, and she sloshed through the water to reach the shore where Rachel tumbled when she ran aground.

Rachel impulsively met her with a hug. She tripped on the leash, and then was yanked back towards the water when the tide carried the board away.

"Quinn! Can we-I want to do that again!"

Quinn held one of Rachel's arms to keep her from falling over. "Next lesson, surfer girl."

"I'm-I can't-that's amazing!"

Quinn chuckled at Rachel's giddiness. Her rash guard was stuck up around her belly and her eyes were red from the saltwater. Her laugh was loud and infectious.

"Sit down." Quinn instructed, dragging the foamie up onto the sand and gently pushing Rachel down next to it.

Rachel bounced. She couldn't contain herself.

Quinn sat down next to her, glad to rest her legs. It was only three in the afternoon and rain was on the way, but she figured they had time to dry in the sun before heading back to the shop.

….

"So…Berry…What would you think of signing an autograph for my niece?"

Santana climbed out of the car, popped the trunk, and waited for Rachel to grab the two large boxes of apparel.

"I would be delighted!" Rachel enthused.

"And I'll need to take a picture because she'll want proof that it's really your signature."

Rachel clumsily heaved the boxes out of the trunk and balanced them on the bumper. She wrapped her arms securely around the bottom one and lifted, tipping sideways with the effort.

"I'd be happy to, Santana." She assured once she was stable.

Santana nodded shortly and shut the trunk. "Don't trip. You'll send shit flying."

Rachel struggled with her load-moving blindly because it was nearly dark-and wondered if Santana even had a niece. Santana led her through the yellow side door, but then stopped only a few feet into the room. Rachel ran into her back and decided to drop the boxes where she was standing. She straightened up, brushed off her hands, and settled them lightly on her hips.

Santana was staring at the couch where Quinn sat-feet propped right next to a wine bottle on the coffee table, eyes glassy, watching them serenely. Rachel was surprised to see she was wearing loosely tied canvas shoes. Sinatra's greatest hits were drifting from the radio.

"Q." Santana ventured, eyes narrowed.

"Good evening." Quinn drawled. She tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling and chuckled at nothing.

And then she threw an arm over her mouth and coughed until her face turned red.

"Alright, we're going to the hospital." Santana declared.

Quinn wheezed and held up a hand. She tilted sideways across the couch.

"Save your breath, idiot." Santana strode over to the coffee table and moved the bottle so that Quinn wouldn't kick it over. "I knew this was happening. You wheezy, drunken moron."

"I am…none of those things." Quinn rasped. She lolled her head to the side and gazed at Rachel.

Rachel stood awkwardly next to the boxes of clothes. "You knew what was happening?" she asked Santana, unnerved by how still Quinn was.

"Quinn's a delightful merry-go-round of crazy." Santana grinned overly brightly. "This actually happens-"

"I got crashed by a car." Quinn said sagely.

Rachel gasped slightly.

"Nice phrasing, dummy." Santana chided, sitting on the coffee table to tie Quinn's shoes.

Quinn pursed her lips. "A car crashed me."

"Yeah, that's much better."

Rachel frowned, saddened and concerned. "I don't-you got in a car crash?"

"You told her?" Quinn exclaimed, kicking one of her shoes into Santana's ribs.

Santana seized her ankle and lowered it back down. "Nope. You did that all by yourself. Sit still and act like a grown up. And if you kick me again I'll beat you with your own surfboard."

"Santana. She doesn't know what she's doing." Rachel defended quietly, watching Quinn's eyes.

Quinn breathed shallowly, hand clutching her chest like she was having trouble with it. She coughed a few times and rubbed at her face.

Santana gripped Quinn's shoulders and pulled her to sit forward. She held her like that until Quinn caught her breath.

"She was in a wreck a few years ago." Santana said quietly, meeting Rachel's confused gaze. "She has chronic lung infections-anything where she turns into a wheezy mess-plus a whole shitload of other issues. Usually they pump her with antibiotics and she's fine."

Rachel nodded sadly. She watched Quinn tap her toes together on the coffee table.

"She turns into a goddamn idiot when it happens though." Santana continued, louder. "Prancing around all day, drinking and not telling anybody when she's suffocating in the middle of the night."

"Idiot." Quinn repeated absently.

"Yeah, you are."

Rachel worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "But she'll be okay?"

Santana nodded. She moved to stand up and tugged Quinn with her. Quinn swayed dangerously and laughed out loud, leaning heavily into Santana's side. Rachel smiled at the scene, despite the circumstances.

She was going to open the yellow door for Santana when a cat sauntered into the room from the hallway. Smoky gray with four white paws, Rachel almost jumped out of her skin at the sight of him.

"Oh my-I think you-I think you have a stray!" she announced, pointing at the animal.

Quinn turned, caught sight of the cat, and smiled widely. She surged away from Santana and walked relatively smoothly up to Rachel. Rachel put her hands up to gently slow Quinn's momentum, and Quinn stared down at her-glossy-eyed and far too close.

Quinn grinned. "Rachel Berry, that's Mars. Mars is a cat."

Rachel recoiled slightly at Quinn's breath on her face. "Is that so?"

"Mars Bar." Quinn nodded and leaned further into Rachel like she'd made herself dizzy. "He's a cat. He lives here. We feed him cat food."

Santana rolled her eyes. "What kind of animal is he, Q? I don't think Rachel caught that."

Quinn crouched down suddenly-arm held out towards the cat-and tipped into Rachel's leg. Rachel put a hand on her head to steady her. She glanced wide-eyed at Santana, who shrugged and laughed.

Quinn stood up with Mars in her arms and kissed his head.

"You wait for me, Rachel." Quinn said quietly, hugging the cat to her chest. She stared intently at Rachel, listing heavily to the side. "Stay here, okay. San's taking me to the hospital."

Rachel nodded and bit her cheek.

"You'll stay here?" Quinn's voice was low and raspy.

"I will."

Quinn nodded to herself. She looked down and seemed to realize she was still holding Mars. She smiled and shuffled closer to Rachel. "This is Mars cat."

"Oh my God." Santana muttered from the door. She crossed the room in two strides and seized Quinn's upper arm.

Quinn clumsily deposited Mars into Rachel's arms and trailed stiltedly after Santana.

"Stay right here, Rachel Berry." She called. "I have to-I was a car crash. I'll see you-"

The door shut on Quinn's words. Rachel hugged Mars, not sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. She laughed, and then dropped the cat and started picking up Quinn's blankets from the floor.


	4. Chapter 4

**Ain't That a Kick in the Head**

**Chapter 4**

Rachel spent the next morning sorting through boxes of boogie board fins, sprawled out on the sandy pine floor of the inventory room. It wasn't until her lunch break that she was able to call her hotel and request a driver to take her to the hospital. She went with a bag of sweet potato fries and boiled peanuts-courtesy of a worried, earnest Brittany-because apparently they were Quinn's favorites.

And Rachel figured it would be criminal to take a cheddar bacon burger into a hospital. The place was surrounded by palm trees, airy and light, and Rachel took the elevator and easily found Quinn's room.

She only spent about five minutes shuffling about outside the door, nervously crinkling the bag of food and fully expecting Quinn to tell her to get lost.

She wouldn't be wanted here. They barely even knew each other. This was probably too personal.

But Rachel would be damned if she let Quinn sit in the hospital by herself. She breathed deeply and pushed open the door. Quinn groaned and sunk back into the pillows as soon as she walked in.

"I won't stay long!" Rachel rushed out before Quinn could say anything. She nervously patted down her sundress while Quinn eyed her. "I just thought I'd bring you some food. And see how you are."

She held up the bag of fries and peanuts like an offering.

"No, that's not-I wasn't…" Quinn looked amused. She shook her head. "You can stay."

Her voice was stronger, normal again. She was breathing evenly and deeply, still sun-tinted golden in the hospital bed, hair salty and tangled. Her cheeks were a little flushed, and Rachel smiled when she realized why.

"You don't have to be embarrassed, you know." She moved next to Quinn's bed and set the bag of food on her knees.

Quinn cut her eyes up. Rachel looked too pleased with herself.

"I know you told me to stay in the shop last night, but it just wasn't feasible. I got to know Mars Bar a little better though. He is certainly a delight."

Quinn sighed and lifted her knees so that the bag of food tumbled into her lap. She was glad the containers had lids on them.

"Do you remember last night?" Rachel pressed, settling into a chair by the bed.

Quinn pried the top off the sweet potato fries and visibly brightened. Rachel suppressed a smile.

"Memory problems, remember?" Quinn said absently.

"I think you remember. Your cheeks are pink."

Quinn shook her head and chewed her food, too hungry to be embarrassed at the moment. She took the top off the boiled peanuts with fries still in her mouth and her eyes lit up.

"Have they fed you?" Rachel wondered.

"Naw, iz shid."

Rachel carefully tossed a wad of napkins into the fray. "Swearing is unbecoming, goofy feet."

Quinn's eyes flashed up at her. "The food here is shit, Rachel Berry. If you call me that again I'll wrap man 'o war tentacles around your legs while you sleep."

Rachel gasped. Her hand dropped immediately to the red marks on her thigh.

Quinn grinned and messily opened more boiled peanuts. She had the juice all over her hands so she used her shoulder to push her hair back when it fell in her face. Rachel leaned forward and tucked it behind her ear, even though she'd just been threatened.

Surely Quinn couldn't actually catch any jellyfish to drape over her in her slumber, right?

She sat quietly while Quinn ate, proud of herself for not asking about the accident or wreck or whatever it was that had stuck Quinn here and caused those scars.

"You went to work, right?" Quinn glanced at her. "Did Mike and Santana open the shop?"

Rachel shook her head solemnly. "They actually went out of business in the fourteen hours you've been here."

"Not surprised. You know I can fire you?" Quinn pointed a fry in Rachel's direction.

"I spent the morning sorting through twenty boxes of flippers, thank you very much."

"Fins, Rachel. They're called fins. Penguins have flippers."

Rachel tilted her head and committed that to memory. She realized Quinn had finished her peanuts and had no way to clean her hands, so she dug through her purse until she emerged with a Wet-Wipe. She stood up and lightly grabbed Quinn's wrist.

"Hold still." She instructed when Quinn tried to pull away.

"I can do it myself." Quinn protested. "Get lost."

Rachel ignored her and Quinn stopped squirming when she realized it was futile. She watched Rachel's face instead.

"Did anybody recognize you when you came up here?"

Rachel shrugged. "Maybe. But it would be in bad taste to approach me in a hospital, even though I welcome and adore all of my fans."

Quinn snorted softly and sat back when Rachel released her hands.

"Yale." Quinn said after eating a few more fries.

Rachel lifted her eyebrows.

"Where I went to school." Quinn waved a hand around. "You asked yesterday. It was Yale."

Rachel smiled slowly.

"I was a theatre studies major."

Rachel's smile vanished and her jaw dropped. "What-that's-oh my-Quinn, how could-what are you-"

"I was the lead in _A Streetcar Named Desire_ my junior year." Quinn interrupted Rachel's stuttered mess.

Rachel stared.

"And, believe it or not, I'm not from Candyland. I'm from-" Quinn shook her head and blushed slightly, painfully aware that she knew too many things about Rachel Berry. "-the same place as you, actually."

"Blanche or Stella?" Rachel blurted, stuck on the previous information.

"I was Blanche."

"Quinn!"

Quinn recoiled, unsure why Rachel suddenly seemed explosively angry.

"What are you doing running a surf shop in Florida?" Rachel asked, eyes wide. "That's-that's _flabbergasting_!"

Quinn frowned. "Is that a legitimate adjective? King's English? Or are you making up words?"

"Quinn!"

Quinn sighed and tipped her head back against the pillows. She'd barely convinced herself to answer those few questions. She was finished now.

"Did you graduate?" Rachel asked, much less manically. She was genuinely interested.

Quinn bit her tongue and shook her head.

"That's still…amazing." Rachel studied her. "I can't believe it. You were in-I just can't believe it."

"Sam calls me Ivy League shark bait."

Rachel bobbed her head. "It's probably because you call him Sham."

Quinn closed her eyes and discreetly wiped her still-greasy hands on the blanket. She could feel Rachel bursting with excitement, probably questions. Quinn must've been a performer-singing, dancing, acting. She might appreciate theater as much as Rachel. She was educated and gorgeous and dusted with sweet potato fry crumbs.

"One more question." Quinn mumbled, about ready to fall asleep. "Then you go make sure my shop isn't on fire."

Rachel sat forward eagerly. "I would love to inquire about your musical preferences, and whether or not they extend beyond 50s and 60s era Rat Pack classics, but I can save that for another day."

Quinn managed to roll her closed eyes.

"My question is one I've already asked before." Rachel didn't even need to think. The question was constantly there, and she continued when she saw that Quinn wasn't going to protest.

"Are you with anybody?" she asked tentatively, toes bouncing in anticipation. "Do you have a boyfriend, or…maybe a _significant other_?"

Quinn pursed her lips. Of course that was her question.

"It doesn't seem like you do." Rachel plowed on. "But it's-you know, I don't want to assume. You know what they say about that. I'm just curious. I know it's none of my business…"

Rachel trailed off and watched Quinn cautiously, ready to placate or apologize or flee if she saw Quinn's eyes flash.

"No." Quinn said simply. She evenly met Rachel's gaze.

Rachel smiled slightly. She was feeling a rush, far too excited for a hospital visit, probably because of all the theater talk. And she seemed to be experiencing an odd sense of triumph.

"Thank you for answering me." She said sincerely.

Quinn nodded and closed her eyes again.

Rachel stood up and stooped quickly to kiss Quinn's cheek-brushing blonde hair out of the way. She grabbed the empty food bag and whirled on her heel. Quinn laid calmly, eyes shut, pretending her face wasn't bright red and tingling.

"See you soon, goofy feet." Rachel smiled from the door, and left the room before Quinn could catch her.

….

Quinn was released in the late afternoon. It was raining-hot rain, like she'd learned only Florida managed to pull off-and she shoved Sam away when he tried to hold a newspaper over her head on the short walk from his car to the shop door. Quinn's laces were untied and her t-shirt was twisted sideways, and she reached the door right as Mike stepped out of it.

"Perfect timing!" he declared, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her under cover.

Rachel stood behind him and smiled apologetically at Quinn.

"Those two boards up in Vero are ready. We have to go pick 'em up." Mike said brightly.

Quinn groaned and rubbed at her face.

Rachel frowned. She laid a hand on Mike's arm. "Why can't we-we can just go without Quinn, right?"

"No. No, no…no. You can't." Quinn mumbled.

"We went all the way up to Jacksonville last year to pick up a longboard, brought home the wrong one, and Quinn hasn't let us go by ourselves ever since."

Quinn scoffed and ducked out of Mike's hold. "Yeah, because you're all fucking morons."

She turned and stalked out to Mike's truck, ignoring the rain. She climbed into the backseat and slammed the door loudly.

Mike sighed at Rachel's worried expression. "Quinn doesn't drive." He said, like that would explain something.

"Ever?"

"Never." Mike gestured at Rachel to see if she was ready to run through the rain. Rachel nodded, and they waved goodbye to Sam and darted through the parking lot to the front seats of Mike's truck.

Rachel peered into the back sympathetically. Quinn was lying on her back across the seats with her legs curled up against the door, shoes on the floor. She cut her eyes at Rachel and stared until Rachel looked away.

Mike bumped out onto the road and Quinn shut her eyes and tried to control her nerves. She was never good with wheels.

"Are you from here, Mike?" Rachel asked after about ten minutes of driving. The truck was silent except for the rain, maybe thunder in the distance.

"Oh no, we're all from Ohio." He smiled. "Sam and Santana, too. We went to high school together."

Rachel nodded, surprised. "And you all came down here together to open a surf shop?"

Mike bobbed his head a bit. He licked his lips and glanced at the rearview mirror.

"No." Quinn supplied bluntly.

"We didn't know anything about surfing when we moved here." Mike said vaguely.

"Mike still doesn't. He uses a giant foamie and wears boardies and pretends he's a surfer."

Mike rolled his eyes and leaned conspiratorially towards Rachel. "She acts like a mean old grump sometimes, but don't let it fool you. Quinn's a softie."

"No." Quinn mumbled.

Rachel glanced around to see Quinn lying on her side now, eyes closed, cheek pressed up against the fabric seat with an arm dangling over the edge.

Mike smiled. "She gives free surf lessons to kids."

Rachel awwed. Quinn pushed a fist into the back of her seat until Rachel reached behind and slapped her hand away.

"I can't believe all four of you moved down here together. I don't think I have many people who'd do that with me."

Mike shrugged. "Quinn needed-"

"Gah, just stop talking!" Quinn rolled over so that her face was pressed against the back seat and her voice was muffled. "She's a stranger, Mike."

That hurt a little bit. Rachel clasped her hands on her lap and pressed her lips together. She watched the road and the scenery out the window. Mike glanced over, shaking his head.

"She's out of it." He mouthed, and Rachel smiled faintly.

"I'm sure you have millions of admirers who'd love to move with you." He said out loud. "Santana, for one. Sam loves you. I'd go, 'cause you seem pretty awesome. You aren't some stuck up Hollywood bitch, you know."

Rachel's smile grew. Mike winked at her.

"And Quinn would go. She tries to act all cool around you, but she's got stars in her eyes."

Quinn mumbled something against the backseat. Rachel reached around and prodded her in the back.

"Hey, Quinn Fabray." She said impulsively. "I am not a stranger, just so you know. I'll be your friend even if you won't be mine."

Quinn squirmed until Rachel stopped poking her. "Is this kindergarten?" she muttered, but her shoulders softened and she reached an arm blindly behind her and grazed Rachel's hand.

Mike lifted his eyebrows triumphantly. "See? Softie." He mouthed at Rachel.

The drive took about an hour and a half. When they reached their destination-a large, modern surf store a few blocks from the water-Quinn was the first one out of the truck. She straightened her t-shirt, tied her shoes, and a ran a hand through her hair, then strode purposefully through the front door.

The rain had stopped, but the air was hot and humid and thick, and Rachel tried to tame her hair while she hurried after Mike and Quinn. She veered off to browse the store while they dealt with the boards.

Where Quinn's shop was pine and sandy and wooden and bright, this one was clean-cut and black and white. It was large-at least four times the size of Quinn's-and well organized. Jupiter Surf had shaded areas out back where Sam could work on his boards on a haphazardly constructed wooden table, but this place had indoor workrooms.

It wasn't very warm, and Rachel decided she liked Quinn's shop better.

Quinn and Mike walked back through the shop carrying two boards-Quinn held the noses, setting the pace, while Mike had the tails tucked under his arms and scrambled a bit to keep up.

They loaded them into the back of the truck with a board pad on the tailgate, and Quinn kicked off her shoes again and climbed into the backseat.

It was a silent drive as the sun was setting.

Mike hit a section of potholes in the road as they passed through Port St. Lucie, and the truck lurched violently from side to side. Rachel seized her door handle and Mike held the wheel and straightened them out.

"We good back there?" he glanced at the rearview mirror.

Quinn struggled to catch her breath while nodding casually. She un-fisted her hands and rubbed at the red, half-moon welts on her palms. Rachel watched her through the side mirror.

She tipped forward and gestured at the radio. "May I?"

"Go for it." Mike nodded.

Rachel skipped over several stations-top forty, country, Spanish-language, talk shows-before landing on "Fly Me to the Moon." She smiled to herself, sat back, and caught Quinn's gaze in the mirror.

Quinn nodded slightly in thanks, relaxed, and tipped her head against the glass to go to sleep.

…

Rachel rolled over and groaned at the name lit up on her phone. It was in all caps, because that's how he'd entered it.

"JESSE ST. JAMES." His name was shouting at her.

New York's golden child, casting director and producer of the new film version of _Anything Goes_. Rachel sighed into her pillow. She ignored the call and scrolled through her contacts to her manager's number instead. She sat up as it rang, mildly disappointed that she wouldn't be waking Kurt in the middle of the night.

"Would you look at that, she's alive!" he greeted loudly.

Rachel decided to cut him off before he could get started. "Kurt, it's midnight." She announced, voice rough with sleep. "I just need you to catch me up _very quickly_. What's going on with the role? Have they cast somebody else?"

Kurt was silent, on the precipice of some kind of rant.

"I know Tina's told you where I am, and I'm sorry I haven't called, but I'm here now. And I'm listening. Please."

Rachel got out of bed and crossed to the sliding door, where she peeked through the curtains. The beach was dim, lit only by green lights on the hotel because of sea turtle nesting. She'd done some research.

"Well thank you, Rachel." Kurt drawled. "I'm great. It's nice of you to ask. How are you?"

"Kurt, please."

He sighed. There was clanging on his end of the line, like he'd decided to cook himself a midnight snack.

"Of course they haven't given the role to somebody else. It's tailor-made for you, Rachel. St. James knows that, and he's making everybody wait to make a decision until it's been determined either that you'll take the role or that you've actually gone insane and dropped off the planet."

Rachel groaned and dropped her head forward against the cold glass.

"Yes. That's what they're speculating." Kurt carried on. "Rachel Berry had a breakdown. You weren't that far from crazy to begin with."

"I didn't have a breakdown." Rachel protested.

Kurt's voice rose. "Well I wouldn't know that, would I?"

Rachel sighed.

"Listen, Rachel, just tell me what happened with Jesse St. James. Did he insult you at that meeting? He probably offended you, right? So you vanished, some kind of extreme, ill-advised version of the silent treatment."

"I don't want to talk about it, Kurt." Rachel's voice was small.

"Then just give me an answer. Yes or no. Are you the next Reno Sweeney?"

Rachel pushed off the glass door and paced past her bed, chewing on her lip.

Kurt's tone was softer now, friendly. The clanging had stopped. "I don't mean to pressure you, but this movie is going to be huge. It's exactly what you were looking for. You wanted to get back to theater, right? This is your middle ground."

"It's…an amazing role." Rachel admitted.

Kurt jumped on that. "Right! And if you let it go because of something that golden little pretty boy has said to you, I will fly across the country myself and force feed you your Tonys."

Rachel smiled slightly.

"They're statues, Rachel. I don't think you'd enjoy them."

"Just…I need time, okay?" Rachel said softly. "It's the role of a lifetime, Kurt, but I haven't felt like myself in a while."

Kurt sighed, resigned. "They'll wait. There's no doubt. They're quite taken with you, Miss Berry."

"Thank you."

"But if I hang up this phone, you have to promise to answer when I call. I don't like getting all my news through Tina. She skews it and yells at me when I'm too pushy."

Rachel chuckled. "I'll call. But you have to do something about those rumors. I'm not completely crazy."

"I'm telling everybody you've gone off the deep end." Kurt assured. "Rachel Berry, off the reservation and around the bend. If you find some marbles on the floor, pick them up because they're probably hers."

"Shut your face, Kurt."

"Sort yourself out, Rachel. It'll all come up roses."

Rachel could hear the smile in his voice. She hung up and got back under the covers. She thought about _Anything Goes_ and wondered if Quinn liked Bing Crosby.

….

"Are you calling her this summer?"

Sam glanced at Quinn, eyebrow raised. He was waxing a ten-foot longboard in the shaping room and working up a sweat. Quinn sat on the floor with a glass of juice-not dressed, because she'd decided not to surf that morning.

She sighed when she realized what he was talking about.

"I don't know yet."

"Well, you should do it before the end of summer. So like…a couple months. But don't wait too long, dude. Unless you want her to come down for winter or whatever. She's getting a job soon, right?"

Quinn picked grains of sand off the palms of her hands. "Supposedly. That's what she said in the emails."

"You don't believe her?" Sam stopped waxing and raised his eyebrows. "I do. I think she's actually trying this time, Quinn."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "It's been three years."

Sam shrugged. "People change. She's not with your…with Russell anymore."

Quinn ground her teeth together. She took a deep breath and sipped from her juice.

"She just wants to see you." Sam continued waxing. "You know we'll all run her off if she tries anything."

"Santana will run _you_ off if she hears you defending her." Quinn muttered.

"Maybe if you call her-"

"How can you push me to do this after-you _know_-you-_fuck_." Quinn cut her gaze at the back of Sam's head and tipped her own so that it knocked against the wall.

Sam turned and stared at her. "Deep down, somewhere in that big ol' heart of yours, I know you want this."

Quinn scoffed quietly. She stared down at her juice.

Sam threw his last little sliver of wax at her. He turned around and plucked a new one off the shelf.

"If you need time, sure. No prob, dude. But just think about calling her. Seeing her. For closure, if nothing else." Sam advised. "And then if you'd like, you can reject her apology and chop her out of your life like a green leg."

Quinn hummed. "Nicely worded, Sham."

Sam nodded, pleased with himself.

"But I don't trust her. After-I don't trust her."

Just saying it made Quinn feel like she couldn't breathe. Thinking about it. Her throat closed up a little bit, and she bit her cheek and waited for it to pass.

Sam kept his gaze politely fixed on the surfboard. "You don't have to do anything you're not ready for." He said quietly. He turned around and pointed his wax at Quinn.

"I'm just sayin'…We could probably turn Judy into a surfer. I'll make her a pink board and we can put her in a competition or something. One of those grom ones. She'd totally beat Mike."

Quinn chuckled, able to breathe again. "Santana's gonna beat the shit out of you when you welcome my mother with open arms."

"Wouldn't be the first time." Sam smiled.

Quinn stood up and stretched out her back and leaned against the doorway.

"Also, not open arms. Maybe like, concealed weapons and intimidating looks." Sam corrected. "I'm sure you'd have to bail at least one of us out of jail."

"What are you going to jail for?"

Rachel appeared behind Quinn, hands shoved in her light linen pockets, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Sam waved his wax around vaguely.

"Loads of things." Quinn supplied before he could pull something ridiculous out of his ass. "Too many to count. Samson's a rule-breaker."

Rachel laughed loudly, bright-eyed and minty fresh. She smiled at Quinn.

"You said you were going to teach me about wetsuits today. I thought we could get started early."

Quinn bobbed her head around.

"Unless you're going surfing or something." Rachel said quickly, glancing at Sam. "Then I'll wait. I'll set up the display boards outside."

Quinn drank the rest of her juice and hid the glass behind some fins on one of Sam's shelves. She pushed Rachel's shoulders lightly to get her to turn around, and then led the way out onto the shop floor and to one of the racks near the back wall.

Rachel bounced eagerly on her heels.

"Hey," Quinn spun abruptly and held up a hand to keep Rachel from running into her. She caught the side of Rachel's boob and blushed furiously. "I'm sorry I said you were a stranger yesterday. That was-I was tired. And…you're obviously not a stranger. I mean I know who you are. Way too much."

_Way_ too much.

Rachel lifted an eyebrow. This was new. "I understand completely, Quinn."

Quinn nodded shortly and stutter-stepped backwards.

"How are you feeling today?" Rachel asked, amused.

"Like I can breathe." Quinn smiled wryly.

She moved around the rack and gestured for Rachel to follow her. She removed a suit and held it up, biting her cheek when Rachel ran her fingers curiously down the length of neoprene.

"This is called a spring suit, or a shorty." Quinn informed. "Short arms, short legs. It's good for Florida winters, or if someone gets particularly cold. A full suit has long arms and legs, and it's mostly only divers who buy them here."

Rachel grasped Quinn's wrist so that she could turn the suit around and see the back.

"The thickness is measured in millimeters. This is a 2/1, which means that it's two millimeters thick in the torso and one in the arms and legs."

"Do you ever wear one?" Rachel wondered.

Quinn shrugged. "In winter, sometimes. And I wear booties if I'm on the reef."

Rachel's eyes lit up. Quinn realized shortly that she was fascinated with the zip-on wetsuit booties. She batted her eyelashes until Quinn found a pair for her to try on, and she paired it with a neoprene hood and gloves.

"Do I look like a penguin?" was the first thing Rachel asked, cheeks pushed together by the material.

Quinn tucked strands of dark hair back behind the hood. She held Rachel by the chin and turned her head from side to side. Rachel's eyes danced.

"You look like a fool, Rachel Berry." Quinn smiled.

She looked absolutely ridiculous, and she scurried away to the back room to show Sam.

Quinn lined up the rest of the wetsuits to show Rachel and chuckled to herself when she heard Sam's laugh from the shop floor.


	5. Chapter 5

**Ain't That a Kick in the Head**

**Chapter 5**

Quinn recognized the sliminess under her foot. She'd already stepped on a few, and the rays would shoot away before she had a chance to move. She'd never been stung-and she didn't want to scare Rachel-but she couldn't have her stomping around in the waist deep water.

Rachel sloshed hurriedly towards her. She'd just ridden a wave in, clinging desperately to the board on her belly. She was reckless and excited in her movement, while Quinn dragged her fingers calmly through the water.

"Hey Rachel, make sure you shuffle your feet, okay?" Quinn called casually.

Rachel smiled, confused. She flicked the wet hair out of her eyes. "What?"

"Don't stomp or take big steps. Just do the shuffle."

"Why?" Rachel's smile turned suspicious.

"Just…" Quinn decided to play it down. "There may be rays out here. If you shuffle, you warn them with your toes instead of just stomping on them. And they can feel the vibrations."

Rachel's eyes widened. She was on her board in a flash, halfway draped across it with her feet lifted out of the water.

"Oh my God!" she shrieked. Her board drifted sideways while Rachel peered over the edge, looking for shadows in the water.

Quinn bobbed her head. This was exactly what she'd expected. Rachel might actually be able to scare the rays away.

"Stingrays! Oh my-_Quinn_!" Rachel paddled frantically with her hands to get to where Quinn stood calmly in the waist deep water. "I've already been stung once! I don't-we have to-"

"Rachel, they're tiny." Quinn held the nose of Rachel's board steady. "They're more scared of you than you are of them."

Rachel looked ready to combust. "That's what everybody says! That doesn't stop them from appearing on those shows where they were mauled by wild animals!"

Quinn bit her cheek. She dropped lower in the water so that only her head was visible and crossed her arms over the nose of the surfboard.

"If you shuffle, you'll be totally fine. How would you like it if somebody pinned you to the floor and you couldn't get away?"

Rachel looked horrified. "No. No, just…Take me in. Push me in. I don't want-I don't want-"

Quinn rolled her eyes. She set her chin on her arms. "I'm not getting out of this water until you catch some more waves, Rachel Berry."

"Have you stepped on any?"

Quinn sighed. It was like talking to a wall.

"Just a couple. They just shoot away, Rachel. They're harmless."

They really weren't. They'd cause excruciating pain that Quinn couldn't treat with just hot water and a nap. But the chances of being stung were incredibly small. Rachel watched her warily.

Quinn smiled. "You're a dancer, Rachel. Let me teach you the stingray shuffle."

Rachel's eyes seemed to light up, like Quinn had phrased it the perfect way. She slid slowly off her board, staring down into the water, and inched towards Quinn.

"Just scoot your feet along the bottom." Quinn demonstrated. "The vibrations scare them away. Or you'll touch them with your toes and they'll dart in the opposite direction."

Rachel looked too afraid to move. "What if they attack me?"

Quinn managed not to laugh. "They will not attack you."

Rachel looked dubious. She shuffled slowly around, following Quinn. She kept one hand on her board, ready to leap back onto it if she felt anything odd, and her eyes fixed on the water.

"I wish it was clearer." She murmured.

"I need to take you up to the panhandle. Or the Keys. You'll see everything that tries to sneak up on you."

Rachel cut her eyes over, unamused. She started moving faster, and eventually took her eyes off the shadowy water and looked for more waves to ride in. Quinn was surprisingly successful in getting her to stop bouncing around like a jumping bean.

"I wish you would've let me wear that wetsuit." Rachel remarked mildly.

"You would be suffocating, Rachel. Burning up."

"I feel it would offer protection against whatever wild animals may be out here."

Quinn decided against telling her that a millimeter of neoprene would offer no protection whatsoever against a stingray barb. She gestured at an incoming wave instead, and Rachel crawled onto the board and waited for Quinn to propel her forward.

She'd become pretty adept at getting to her knees, at least, and she managed to stand all the way up on several waves. Quinn laughed when she realized that Rachel wasn't bailing when she'd ridden as far as she could go-she was crouching back down and then lying on her belly like she was reversing the steps.

"Teach me a trick." Rachel requested breathlessly, shuffling back out to where Quinn was.

Quinn tipped her head as a small wave crashed against her back. "There's not much you can do on ankle-breakers."

"I want to do what you do. Teach me how to turn and do that spinny thing at the top."

"You can't do that on whitewater, Rachel." Quinn chuckled.

Rachel stood there, staring at her and pouting.

"Let's try something, okay?" Quinn suggested. She turned Rachel's board around and pointed at it. "You stay at the front. Not on the nose, or you'll pearl us into the sand. Sit, stand, kneel, whatever. I'll be on the back. Maybe we can manage a cutback or something."

Rachel clasped her hands excitedly. "You'll ride with me?"

Quinn smiled. "Get up there, Rachel."

Rachel clambered clumsily onto the board while Quinn held it steady. She sat cross-legged near the nose, and Quinn dragged them a few yards backwards so they'd get a longer ride. She waited for the approaching swell of whitewater, pushed off easily, and popped right to her feet behind Rachel.

Quinn shifted her weight back and forth to pick up speed while Rachel shrieked happily.

"Don't fall off." Quinn said loudly, and then twisted left until they were frontside along the wave.

She laughed at Rachel's volume and cut back the other way. Rachel stuck one fist in the air, clinging to the rail with the other. She reached blindly behind her and held Quinn's ankle, and Quinn lazily steered them around a boogie boarder and a few children.

She bailed in the shallow water, landing on her feet, and Rachel tipped off the board and laughed loudly.

"That's so much fun!" She bounced forward impulsively and gave Quinn a hug, and then was suddenly aware that Quinn wasn't wearing a rashguard and her own had ridden up to her abdomen. She flushed and looked around excitedly.

"Stingray shuffle, Rachel." Quinn reminded, smiling softly.

"Of course, of course." Rachel grabbed her leash and started dragging the board back out to the break. Quinn straightened her shorts and slicked back her shaggy hair and followed along.

"This is exhausting. It's a workout regimen in itself." Rachel mused, panting.

Quinn tipped her head vaguely.

"I guess you have to be really in shape to have any kind of success with it." Rachel continued. "You know, to win. Strong arms, legs, and core. It's a very demanding sport."

Quinn hummed.

Rachel peaked an eyebrow. "Are you not tired at all? Because I think I'm about to pass out."

"No, it's just…success isn't a win, you know? Or throwing the best tricks or biggest waves, I don't think." Quinn tapped her thigh and stared down at the water while she shuffled next to Rachel. "It's about, like…you make your body do things that it wouldn't do anywhere else. Even just that-that tiny thing we rode, it's totally new, right?"

Rachel nodded slowly, brow furrowed.

Quinn could tell Rachel wasn't really getting it. She smiled wryly.

"I was paralyzed in that crash I told you about." She ignored Rachel's muted gasp, shaking her head. "I had nerve damage, so I couldn't move my legs, and I kind of threw myself in a pool and tried to swim. I couldn't, of course, and Sam jumped in and helped me out."

Rachel was wide-eyed, shuffling slowly. Quinn relayed her story bluntly, like she was tired of it.

"But I started a water therapy program. I didn't want to move back home, just because my par-my mom-I couldn't-I didn't want to do that, so I picked Florida. Water on three sides. Sam, Mike, and Santana came with me. They thought I was-I don't know-they thought I'd throw myself in the ocean or something."

Quinn laughed drolly and Rachel frowned. They stopped shuffling when they hit waist-deep water. Rachel sank so that she could prop her arms on one side of the board, and Quinn did the same on the other.

"I spent every day in the pool, and then when I could walk, I spent all day at the beach. Sam brought me a board once, told me to get on, and then pushed me in the whitewater like I do for you."

Rachel smiled.

"So yeah, it's not about…being really in shape or success or anything. I mean, I learned how to walk again, which is…" Quinn shrugged and patted the board so that water splashed into Rachel's face. "And as far as enjoyment goes, I've never heard anybody laugh as loudly as you do out here."

Rachel nodded sagely. "Well, yeah, I'm basically a professional now, goofy."

"No."

"I want to go ride the big ones."

Quinn chuckled. "You'll get yourself killed."

Rachel was trying to contain her excitement over the fact that Quinn had shared with her another huge chunk of her life. She was beginning to realize patience was key.

Quinn watched her calmly, chin on her hands.

"Maybe…by the time the Pro-Am comes and you have to leave, you can try a big wave."

Rachel gasped exaggeratedly.

"But only if you don't hurt yourself before then." Quinn challenged.

"Let's ride another one in, and you can do that turn-y thing." Rachel stood fully and rocked the board until Quinn did as well.

Quinn grumped and groaned and purposely turned way too sharply when they caught a wave. Rachel went careening off one side of the board and Quinn tipped off the other, tangled by the leash still attached to Rachel's ankle. Rachel didn't seem to care. She laughed, eyes bright against her sun-darkened skin.

Rachel pulled off her rashguard when they reached the sand and ran her fingers through her hair. Quinn pursed her lips and looked away thoughtfully. She sat next to the board, propped her sunglasses on her nose, and leaned back with her palms in the sand to dry off.

Rachel joined her, shoulder to shoulder. Quinn's body buzzed with the contact.

"I think I've been made." Rachel whispered a moment later, staring straight ahead.

Quinn frowned. "What?"

"Right behind us. Don't look, but I think they recognize me."

"Really." Quinn thought about Rachel and her giant sunhat.

Rachel knocked her foot against Quinn's ankle.

"Is this a problem?" Quinn asked, ready to just lie back and fall asleep in the sun.

"Only if they tell somebody, and that somebody tells somebody, and it increases exponentially until I have a mob chasing me down the coast."

Quinn smirked. "I thought you welcome and adore all of your fans, Rachel Berry?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. She chanced a glance behind her and then faced forward and muttered to herself.

"Don't say anything." She whispered quickly, squeezing Quinn's arm.

Quinn didn't even have time to respond.

"Rachel Berry?"

Rachel looked up, feigning surprise, and smiled widely at the woman. She stood with a teenage girl at her side, camera in her hands.

"Yes, hi there!" Rachel climbed to her feet.

Quinn fought the urge to reach up and brush the sand off the backs of her thighs.

"We were just having a family beach day and we saw you sitting over here, and-I mean- my daughter and I are just such big fans, we couldn't not ask for a picture."

"I would love to take a picture with you!" Rachel enthused. She glanced down at Quinn, who looked ready tip over and fall asleep. "Um, Quinn, could you…"

Quinn looked up lazily, eyes dancing in the sun. She lifted an eyebrow.

"Would you take our picture, please?"

Quinn nodded and stood. She smiled warmly at the woman and her daughter.

"This is my friend, Quinn." Rachel introduced unnecessarily.

She took her place between the two women and smiled, hoping that this picture wouldn't make it to the internet. Her hair was curled, her eyes were red, and her bikini was probably askew. Quinn smirked behind the camera because Rachel was at least eight inches shorter than both her fans.

"My brother's been checking you and your friend out." The woman's daughter informed Rachel, smiling.

Quinn cut her eyes over their shoulders and Rachel laughed at her indignant expression.

"We read that you might be in the new _Anything Goes_. We're so excited; it's one of our favorite movies."

Rachel was unprepared for that. She recovered quickly, noting Quinn's mild surprise.

"I…yes, it would be a wonderful opportunity for me. Nothing's been decided yet. It's one of my favorites as well."

Quinn watched her curiously.

"Well, we really hope you do it." The woman with the camera nodded and smiled. "We'll let you go now."

Her daughter looked at Quinn, eyes wide and earnest. "She's so beautiful." She gushed, nodding at Rachel. "Isn't she beautiful? My friends won't believe I met her."

Quinn smiled. "She is."

Rachel's eyes flickered over. Her cheeks turned pink.

"Thank you, Miss Berry!" The woman said again, and then turned and started traipsing back to her family's spot on the beach.

Rachel sighed and sat back in the sand.

Quinn sat next to her and tipped her head. "I love _Anything Goes_." She said quietly.

Rachel nodded. She'd expected nothing less.

…..

Tina stood in the gravel parking lot of the yellow surf shop. Her plane had only landed two hours ago, and she was already sweating. She shook her head in hopeless amusement and wondered again how Rachel had ended up working here.

She walked through the open front doors and glanced around. There was a blonde woman sitting behind the glass counter-red shorts, t-shirt, shaggy hair. She looked up from her book when Tina approached.

"Is there anything I can help you find?" she asked attentively, eyebrow raised.

Tina bobbled her head and leaned against the counter. "I'm actually looking for Rachel Berry."

Quinn stared at her.

"I'm a friend. She knows I'm coming." Tina said quickly.

Quinn hummed, nodding in realization. She glanced around like Rachel might be hidden in the racks. "She actually went to pick up a board with one of our other employees. They should be back soon."

Tina studied the woman. "You're Quinn Fabray."

Quinn's eyes flashed.

Tina stuck out her hand and smiled. "Tina Cohen-Chang. It's nice to meet you. I've known Rachel since high school. She's told me about you."

"Oh, that's…yeah, I'm Quinn." Quinn loosened her jaw and shook Tina's hand. She closed her book and shifted a pile of board shorts off the stool next to her. "You can come around here and wait for her if you'd like."

"I can't believe Rachel's working here." Tina chuckled, moving to take the seat.

Quinn tipped backwards, balancing against the wall behind her. She propped her bare feet on the counter since Mike was taking care of the only customers in the shop at the moment.

"She seems to like it." Quinn shrugged. "She gets free surf lessons."

Tina suspected that Rachel also had a bit of a crush contributing to her working here, but she wouldn't reveal that out loud.

"I haven't had to repeat anything. She's very eager."

Tina chuckled. "Eager, yes. Peppy, bouncy..."

Quinn let her stool fall flat again and laughed lightly. Tina was relaxed, positive, non-threatening-probably not some paparazzo going to extreme measures to obtain a picture.

"So I guess-did you come from California? You flew here?"

"I did." Tina watched Quinn slide the glass display door open with her foot to rearrange the stickers in the counter. "She told me to visit. And I wanted to check on her since it didn't seem like anybody else was going to."

"Does she need checking on?"

Tina smiled and helped Quinn with a stack of stickers. "That's why I'm here. I don't know."

Quinn hummed. "But there's nobody else who'd come out here? She doesn't have a…boyfriend or anything?"

If this was a question from an overly nosy fan, Tina would shut it down. She'd shrug and "no comment" the whole thing. But it was a woman in bare feet and salty hair stacking Jupiter Surf stickers and trying too hard to act casual.

Tina eyes danced knowingly. "She doesn't, no."

Quinn hummed again. She glanced at Tina. "Did she tell you I've been teaching her to surf?"

"Yes. And she said you're going to teach her some tricks soon, too."

"She's making things up." Quinn shook her head, smiling.

"Hey, Quinn," Mike called from the surfboard room. He appeared in the doorway with a young couple in tow. "Did Sam fix the nose of that shortboard? The green one? I think it would be perfect for these guys."

"It's in the back." Quinn smiled at the couple. "You need to let the resin sit, but it should be good to go in a couple days."

As Mike led them back through the board room, Sam teetered in through the front door with an eleven foot longboard balanced on his head. He knocked into the doorway as he turned to face Quinn, and Rachel bounced up behind him and winced and acted like she was ready to catch anything that might be dropped.

If Sam dropped that board on her, she'd be driven into the ground. Quinn chuckled to herself.

"Rachel!" Tina exclaimed.

Rachel's eyes darted over. She squealed and left Sam by himself to fumble his way into the surfboard room. He caught a wooden beam and stumbled and laughed loudly.

"I thought you'd just wait at the hotel!" Rachel hugged Tina, nearly tipping her off the stool.

Quinn shut the glass display door and watched.

"I wanted to see where you got yourself a job." Tina grinned. "I've been talking to Miss Quinn here."

Rachel's smile softened. She glanced at Quinn. "Don't believe anything she says about me."

"You're the one making things up, Rachel Berry." Quinn tipped her stool back against the wall. "I never said I was going to teach you any tricks."

"Well you are because I'm going to make you." Rachel challenged, lips quirked.

Quinn narrowed her eyes.

"Not forcibly." Rachel amended, because Quinn would probably drown her under the pier if she tried to force her to do anything. "But I have my ways."

Tina leaned against the counter and watched the exchange, amused.

"I guess we'll see." Quinn said shortly.

Rachel eyed her stool. "You're going to tip backwards and break your head open."

"I've had worse." Quinn shrugged. She stared hard at Rachel, eyebrow raised, daring her to argue with that.

Rachel's stubborn stance melted at the comment. Her hands fell from her hips and she pouted slightly. Tina looked questioningly at Quinn, who let her stool fall flat again and smiled triumphantly.

"Hey, broskie," Sam yelled from somewhere in the back, banging things around. "Come show me where you want this monster."

Rachel frowned. "Who's that?"

"Me." Quinn rolled her eyes and stood up. "It was nice meeting you, Tina. Make yourself at home in here."

Tina nodded and smiled as Quinn walked away. She looked at Rachel, just staring for a minute. Rachel raised her eyebrows when she realized what Tina was doing.

"What, do I have-"

Tina shook her head, smiling her knowing little smile. Rachel huffed. Tina winked exaggeratedly and nodded at the door Quinn had gone through, and Rachel flushed abruptly.

"Oh my-shut up." She mumbled, spinning on her heel to get back to work.

Tina chuckled and worked on stacking the stickers Quinn had left out.

…..

Quinn was running over a schedule for the Pro-Am weekend in the lounge when there was a knock at the yellow side door. She glanced at it suspiciously-since it was dark outside-and rolled her eyes when Rachel peeked her head through. Rachel caught sight of Quinn on the couch and smiled.

"I love your glasses!"

"Did you forget something?" Quinn asked wryly. She ran a hand through her hair and straightened her reading glasses. She definitely hadn't been expecting company.

Rachel stepped fully into the room, Tina at her side. "We had nothing to do at the hotel, so we'd thought we'd come and keep you company this evening. Sam said you spend most nights here."

Quinn stared up at them.

"Or we can go somewhere else." Rachel hurried. She eyed the mess of papers on the coffee table, pleased that there were no empty bottles lying around. "Or we could help with that-whatever that is. I'm actually surprised you're not surfing."

"It's black-ball." Quinn smiled. "They black-balled me. Strong currents."

Tina narrowed her eyes. "What does that even mean?"

"The no surfing flag is a black ball on a yellow background." Rachel informed before Quinn could say anything. "And Quinn's just being crude."

Quinn raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Look at you go."

Rachel smiled and blushed slightly and sat on the armchair next to the couch. Tina sat next to Quinn and squinted at the schedule drafts and inventory lists and contact pages.

"Enjoying your evening?" she joked.

Quinn chuckled. "I think I'm going to have one big staff meeting where I fill everybody in on the Pro-Am weekend. Probably at mine and Sham's house, just so everybody ends up on the same page."

Rachel nodded intently. Quinn looked tired already-in sweats and a t-shirt and messy hair-and the event was still over a month away.

"Is that why you don't open on Sundays?" Rachel wondered. "So you can catch up with all the business stuff?"

Quinn's eyes flickered over. She shook her head. "Church."

Rachel remembered the small silver cross. She held Quinn's gaze before it drifted away and landed on Mars. The cat jumped onto the coffee table and splayed out over the piles of paper.

"Hey, no." Quinn protested, smiling. She flicked his white paws. "Get lost, cat."

Rachel got up from the armchair and moved to the coffee table. She sat on the floor and tied her hair back, rolled up her sleeves, and pulled up the Pandora app on her phone. She opened the Jersey Boys station, smiling innocently when Quinn's eyes narrowed at her with the sound of Frankie Valli's voice.

"Let's get to work, then." Rachel chirped, poring over the papers on the table.

Quinn studied her. Tina was already stacking several pages together.

"I can color code all the schedules sometime." Rachel offered absently. "We can put everything in a binder, tabs and all, so that you'll be able to find it easily. And I'll make a checklist of people we need to call. Everything will be so much more efficient. Maybe you'll get some sleep."

Quinn dropped her eyes from Rachel's face and bit her lip. She nodded vaguely-because it seemed like Rachel couldn't be stopped-and sang under her breath to "Oh, What a Night."

Rachel noticed, exchanged a smile with Tina, and set to work organizing Quinn's mess.


	6. Chapter 6

**Ain't That a Kick in the Head**

**Chapter 6**

"You'd make a good Reno Sweeney."

Rachel looked up from her French toast to find Quinn studying her thoughtfully. Quinn tipped her head, cheek full of pancake. She covered her mouth to speak.

"Small, loud. Rachel Berry on a boat. I'd get a kick out of that."

Rachel narrowed her eyes. "Is that a pun?"

Quinn grabbed the syrup jug with both hands and doused her remaining pancakes. She hummed the chorus of "I get a kick out of you," and met Rachel's gaze, eyebrow raised.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're so full of it." Rachel shook her head, smiling. She ripped the tops off four packets of sugar and dumped them into her coffee.

Quinn paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. "Would you like some insulin to go with that?"

"If you know so much about theater, and you majored in it, why aren't you doing something with it?" Rachel asked, ignoring the sugar comment. She glanced around the diner and hailed Brittany to bring more syrup since Quinn had run out.

"I run a surf shop."

"But why?" Rachel pressed.

Quinn stabbed a pancake. "Because I like it."

"More than theater?"

Quinn was silent for a moment. Rachel sipped her coffee, assuming she wasn't going to get an answer. She thanked Brittany when she dropped off a new jug of syrup.

"Sometimes I like it better." Quinn said finally, cheeks full of food. "They're-it's-they're completely different worlds."

Rachel observed her. She'd come to find that Quinn would tap her thighs when questioned. Cornered or distressed or annoyed, Rachel didn't know. "Do you sing?"

"No."

"_Can_ you?"

Quinn shrugged.

Rachel smiled. "I bet you can dance."

"Wouldn't you like to know." Quinn was bent over her plate, eyes smiling.

"I would like to know, yes." Rachel enthused. "I'd like to see, actually."

Quinn hummed. "I'll just break it down in the middle of breakfast, then."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Not now. Soon. Just…the next time we have music. We can dance."

"Maybe. It makes my knees hurt."

Rachel pouted slightly, sympathetic. Quinn caught her expression and shook her head. She stole a bite of French toast off Rachel's plate and sniffed curiously.

"It's vegan. Not poison." Rachel informed. She let Quinn steal several more bites before slapping her hand away.

"So why haven't you taken that role? Reno Sweeney?" Quinn propped her feet up on the booth next to Rachel. She was wearing shoes this time-faded and nearly untied-so Rachel didn't bother moving them back to the floor.

"It's…" Rachel pursed her lips and rolled through a million ways to say what she needed to.

"Does it have anything to do with why you came down here?"

Rachel hummed lowly.

"It's okay to say you can't tell me, you know. Instead of hemming and hawing like a donkey over there." Quinn dragged her pancakes around a puddle of syrup and lifted a brow.

"I just…would prefer to not talk about it with you at this moment." Rachel said carefully.

Quinn nodded. "I hope whatever it is gets fixed. It'd be nice if they chose _not_ to destroy one of my favorite movies."

A smile grew on Rachel's face. "You think they'd ruin it without me?"

Quinn faltered. Her pancake fell from her fork halfway to her mouth. She'd been lulled away from her vigil state by syrup and amusing conversation. "I'm-I mean, I know you now, so I'd have to like it if you were in it."

Rachel laughed loudly. "Now who's full of it?"

"Shut your face, Rachel." Quinn muttered, staring down at her plate.

"That's no way to talk to a lady!" Sam slid into the booth next to Quinn and slung an arm easily around her shoulders. Quinn shrugged out of it immediately and shoved at him until he gave her some space.

Santana sat next to Rachel, breathing like she'd run up from South Beach.

"Pleasant morning?" Quinn asked drolly.

"Yeah, dude. We were-"

"Not at all. We've been lugging dive tanks around since five a.m., while you've been sitting here having a dandy fucking little breakfast." Santana glanced at the counter and then hurriedly looked away.

"Quinn was working until two in the morning last night." Rachel defended.

Santana looked at her suspiciously. "How do you know that?"

"My friend Tina and I were helping her."

Santana looked at the counter again.

"Why do you keep doing that?" Sam wondered, having found some kind of food to fill his mouth. He sprayed crumbs over the table. "Are you hiding from Brittany?"

Quinn snorted. "She _likes_ Brittany. She's probably trying to think of the best way to seduce her. Staring at the counter like a scared baby animal isn't going to work, San."

"Fuck you, Quinn."

Quinn ignored that. "Really, you should ask her out. Maybe she'll give us free pancakes."

Rachel smiled.

"Like I'm going to take relationship advice from you." Santana scoffed. "Damn mess."

Quinn's fingers tightened around her fork. Her eyes flashed up at Santana and then fixated silently on her plate. Sam nudged her side and offered her part of his muffin and she shook her head shortly. Santana got up and approached the counter where Brittany was arranging donuts in a display.

"How was y'all's morning?" Sam asked brightly.

Rachel glanced at Quinn staring silently down at her food. "It was nice. The beach is still…_black-balled_, so I didn't have my lesson this morning. We decided to get breakfast instead."

"Good plan. Food." Sam nodded.

Rachel looked at him and gestured with her chin at Quinn. He shook his head slightly. Quinn finished her pancakes and sat back in the booth, keeping hold of her fork to twirl it around. She cut her eyes at Sam when he put half of his muffin on her plate, and he looked out the window and pretended not to notice.

Quinn plucked at the muffin with her fork and took a bite, and Rachel smiled to herself.

"Quinn's teaching me about scuba today." Rachel offered lightly.

Sam jumped on the topic, nodding vigorously. "She's good. You should let her take you down sometime."

Even Quinn's cheeks flushed with the wording.

"The Keys are the best." Sam continued, oblivious. "You can just chill with some manatees. Or- have you heard of Boca Raton? I don't know, man. There are loads of places."

"I'll go wherever Quinn directs me." Rachel said simply.

Quinn's eyes flashed up. Her scowl dropped away for a second and Rachel offered her a smile.

"Do you want a donut?" Rachel wondered, glancing at the counter. "I can get one and we can go get to work."

Quinn pursed her lips. "Yes, please." She mumbled. "Two, actually, since you'll do whatever I direct you to."

Rachel chuckled, pleased, and tossed a napkin ball onto Quinn's plate. She slipped out of the booth to fetch two donuts and Sam gave her a discreet thumbs-up.

….

Quinn situated Rachel on a stool behind the register and dumped a pile of scuba gear onto the glass counter-masks, snorkels, a BCD and regulator. Rachel picked up a mask immediately and put it on, wincing when the rubber strap caught in her hair. She pressed it against her face pouted seductively in Quinn's direction.

"How do I look?" Her voice was nasally because of the nose covering.

Quinn laughed shortly. "I spy a new red carpet look."

"How do you make it not foggy?"

"Spit." Quinn demonstrated with another mask, just because she knew it would make Rachel scrunch up her nose. "Or you can buy de-fogger."

Rachel pulled off the mask, whimpering with all the hair that came with it. She was left with strands sticking in all directions and Quinn reached over to pat them down because Rachel seemed oblivious.

"Where's the thing you breathe into?" Rachel glanced around eagerly.

Quinn snatched the BCD and regulator off the counter before Rachel could try them on. "No touching yet." She scolded, eyebrow raised. She dropped them on the floor and held up a snorkel instead.

Rachel sat up straight, hands folded by the register.

"This is a snorkel. If you're at the surface of the water, you don't need to be wasting your oxygen when you could just use a snorkel. It goes on the side of your mask, obviously."

Quinn handed Rachel the snorkel but didn't let go right away. "Don't put it in your mouth. It's an old one."

Rachel scoffed like she hadn't been planning to do exactly that.

"There are a few different kinds. From just normal plastic tubes to dry snorkels, which don't let any water through the opening. Those are pretty nice if the waves are choppy."

"What happens if the normal ones get water in them?" Rachel asked intently.

Quinn smiled. Such a good student. "You either suck it all in and drown, or you blow it out. It'll come right out the top."

Rachel hummed. Quinn was picking a dive fin off the floor when a customer strolled up to the counter. She was a woman about their age, dark hair, empty-handed. Quinn straightened up and smiled politely at her.

"Can I help you find something?"

The woman's eyes dropped deliberately to Quinn's faded shoes and traced all the way back up to her eyes. "I'm actually looking for some shorts to wear while I surf. I like yours, but maybe that's just because they're on you."

Quinn stared at her. "They're not mine." She said bluntly, and then bent back over to fiddle with the dive fins.

Rachel tipped the snorkel up to hide her smile.

The woman sidled forward and leaned against the counter, undeterred. "Well, maybe you could show me some? I like the short ones. Perfect weather to show off the legs, you know?"

"All of our boardies are on that shelf." Quinn pointed to the opposite wall. "Would you just use them for surfing?"

"Do you think I should?" The stranger cocked her hip and eyed Quinn curiously. "What do you wear?"

Rachel wondered if Quinn was aware that she was being flirted with. She played with the snorkel and tried not to laugh because all Quinn seemed to be doing was huffing over dive equipment.

"These." Quinn gestured to her lifeguard shorts.

"Do you have any like that? I think red would suit me."

Quinn bobbled her head. "No, but I'm sure you could get a pair if you became a lifeguard." She drawled.

Rachel coughed to cover up a quiet snort.

The woman looked delighted with this new piece of information. She shuffled even closer to Quinn, until she was toeing the pile of dive fins. "Are you a lifeguard? That's so…noble."

Quinn's eyes narrowed slightly. She studied the stranger, obviously trying to tell if she was serious. Quinn was wearing that look that said she was dealing with morons.

"She's not a lifeguard, but she knows a lot of beach first-aid." Rachel offered helpfully.

Quinn turned and stared at her and Rachel smiled innocently.

The woman glanced dismissively at Rachel. She did a double take and Rachel watched her eyes widen. "Are you-you're not-"

She frowned and shook her head. "You look just like Rachel Berry, you know. Except for the hair."

Rachel nodded sagely. "I get that a lot."

Quinn tilted back against the counter, amused. "I think she has Rachel Berry's eyes too."

"She has a nicer nose than Rachel's though." The woman mused-and Rachel wondered how she'd gone from blatantly flirting with Quinn to studying Rachel's face. "Rachel Berry's is gigantic. And she seems like a bitch."

Rachel narrowed her eyes.

"Huge bitch." Quinn drawled, catching Rachel's gaze.

"Look, I'm going to leave you my number in case you get any of those red shorts in, okay?" The woman finally dragged her eyes away from Rachel and dug in her purse for a piece of paper. "Don't hesitate to use it."

"Sure." Quinn tapped her fingers against the counter while she waited.

"I hope to see you around." The woman handed over the shred of paper, sultry smile fixed on her face.

Quinn barely spared her a glance. She shoved the paper into her pocket, nodded, and smiled. "Thanks for coming. Have a nice day." She bent back over to pick up the dive fins as the woman left the shop.

Rachel toyed with the snorkel and watched her. "So. I think you called me a huge bitch?"

Quinn chuckled.

"You're not even going to deny it." Rachel huffed.

"Rachel Berry, your hair is better than the Rachel Berry she knows." Quinn stood up and dropped some fins onto the counter. "And your nose is nice, and if people think you're a bitch then they're dumbasses. You're like Bambi."

"So you're a dumbass." Rachel laughed.

"_Language_, Rachel."

"You know she was hitting on you, right?"

Quinn hummed vaguely. She held up a fin. "This is a strap-on split fin." She pointed at the band that would loop behind the ankle. "You can wear booties with these, and just slide them on, so they're good for cold water. And the split down the middle makes it easier to flutter kick, which works well when you have a really light current. If I stick you in these in a strong current your legs will fall off from the effort."

Rachel nodded. "Are you going to keep her phone number?"

Quinn held up another fin, this one without a cut down the middle. "This is a blade fin. It has channels for efficient propulsion. As the current gets stronger, the fin gets stiffer and harder to kick. A nice slip-on pair of blade fins is good to have."

"Do a lot of customers hit on you?"

"Rachel." Quinn's eyes flashed in annoyance. She dropped the fin abruptly on the table.

Rachel sat up straight. She recognized that she was probably pushing too far. She pointed at a set of short, stiff fins. "What kind are those?" she wondered quietly.

Quinn exhaled sharply out of her nose. She picked up the fins Rachel was pointing at. "Turtle fins."

Rachel nodded attentively. "What are they for?"

"Technical diving, like caves and wrecks and stuff." Quinn relaxed and handed the fin to Rachel to examine. "They're nice and short so you won't be knocking your feet into thousand year old treasure or anything."

"I'm sure I can manage that anyway." Rachel smiled. She scooted forward on her stool and rested her elbows on the counter. "Now teach me about the thing you breathe into."

"That thing is a regulator." Quinn picked up the BCD vest and pointed at the regulator dangling from the front.

Rachel stood up immediately. "Can I try it on?"

If it had a tank on it, the weight would probably bring Rachel to the ground. Quinn laughed to herself at the thought. She nodded and held it up for Rachel to slip into. While Rachel was excitedly doing up the buckles, Quinn slipped the shred of paper out of her pocket and into the trash can under the counter.

They would not be getting any shipments of lifeguard shorts, and there was no other reason she needed the number.

…

Quinn stood in the middle of her and Sam's living room with a clipboard in hand and glasses on her nose. She squinted down at her paper because she couldn't read her own writing and held up a hand to silence her audience.

Santana groaned.

"Suck it up, Lopez." Quinn bit out immediately.

Santana held up her hands. She was on the couch between Sam and Mike, all three with their legs propped up on the coffee table. Rachel sat quietly with Tina on the loveseat, waiting for Quinn to speak.

"Are you seriously still mad at me?" Santana scoffed.

Quinn ignored her and frowned down at her paper. She really should have let Rachel type it all up. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed, frustrated.

"Fine." Santana rolled her eyes. "Pull your angsty-Quinn shit. I don't care. You know I didn't mean anything by what I said. Now can we hurry the fuck up, please? I have-"

"Dude, shut up." Sam muttered, elbowing her in the ribs.

Santana looked at him, eyes narrowed. She jammed her fingers into his side and Sam grunted and curled forward. Mike leaned over to separate the two.

Rachel got out of her seat because Quinn obviously needed help. She crossed the room and looked over Quinn's shoulder, smiling at the scrawl.

"This is the wrong day." She pointed.

Quinn's brow furrowed. She flipped to the right schedule and mumbled, "Sit down, Rachel. I can do it myself."

Rachel snorted and shook her head and returned to the loveseat. She took the opportunity to lean back and observe Quinn's house-airy, two story, faded green and stony on the outside with a pool in the back. The floors were hardwood, the couches were cozy blue, and there was a large television right behind Quinn. There were few pictures, and the majority seemed to be Sam and his family. Everybody was blonde.

Mike held Santana's ear with one hand and Sam's wrist with the other. They all looked intently up at Quinn.

"We have three weeks to prepare. I'm assigning your duties now so you can't come crying to me the Friday of the Pro-Am saying that you didn't get something completed."

"Geez." Santana muttered, and Mike moved his hand from her ear to her mouth.

"The beach will be packed. All the surf shops will be packed. You guys know this." Quinn moved her glasses to the top of her head. She twirled the pen around her fingers. "Vendors, sponsors, surfers, and spectators."

"Tell us what we need to do so we can get in the pool." Sam grinned.

"Shut it, Sham."

Rachel sat forward. "Quinn and I have created a system so that everybody should be able to get their duties finished in a timely manner."

"I can do it myself, Rachel." Quinn repeated, and Rachel held up her hands and slid backwards again. She crossed her arms and tapped her feet petulantly.

"Santana, you're in charge of inventory." Quinn crossed to the couch and shoved a stack of paper into Santana's reluctant grasp. "There's a whole load of things we ran out of last year, and we can't let that happen again. All you have to do is keep the shelves filled, okay?"

Santana raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so you're talking to me now?"

Quinn turned to Sam. "You're in charge of contacts, Samson. You make the calls, contact the surfers, the sponsors, get them into our shop." Quinn pulled out a list of phone numbers and handed it to Sam. "Rip Curl's the major one. They'll be here with ten of their guys. Any attention you don't put on them, put on Quiksilver and Body Glove."

Sam nodded eagerly. "Got it. Got it, dude."

"Mike, you got the store." Quinn smiled at him. "Make sure it doesn't burn down or go out of business while all my attention is elsewhere. You run the shifts, you manage, you post the surf conditions on the site. No problem, right?"

"Not a one." Mike shook his head easily.

Quinn nodded and walked to the loveseat. She stood in front of Rachel, who looked up at her with a raised eyebrow-still bouncing her feet and huffing every few seconds.

Quinn smiled, amused. "Rachel Berry."

"Yes?"

"You're in charge of our booth on the beach. It needs a pretty face."

Rachel felt her face flush. She smiled before she could stop herself. Quinn ignored Santana's loud scoff and grumbling in the background.

"It's mostly advertising, plus running it all weekend. We'll be handing out little things-wax, lanyards, key chains, t-shirts-that kind of stuff." Quinn leaned forward slightly. "And your voice is loud enough that you could stand on a dune and yell and all of Florida would be aware of Jupiter Surf."

Tina laughed loudly.

Rachel kicked at Quinn's bare legs. "Inconsiderate bitch." She mumbled, trying not to smile.

"Hey bro, are you done?" Sam asked, already off the couch and heading for the sliding door. "Can I go in the pool now?"

"It's almost dark." Mike said. He finally released Santana and she got off the couch and fled to the kitchen where the alcohol was kept.

"Yeah, go, swim, whatever." Quinn rolled her eyes.

"I want to go out there too." Rachel whined, craning around Quinn to see the glass door.

Quinn held out both of her hands. She pulled Rachel and Tina to their feet and pushed them lightly where Sam had gone. They settled on the patio-lit by paper lanterns which Sam swore wouldn't catch fire-and Santana joined them with a six pack of beer, a two liter of soda, and a full bottle of vodka.

Quinn saw it, tipped her head back against her chair, and shut her eyes.

Santana kicked at Quinn's foot until she opened them again.

"I'm sorry about earlier. You know I didn't mean anything by it."

Quinn pursed her lips.

"I got a date." Santana continued, and her eyes dropped to her feet. Quinn smirked. "So I need you to stop ignoring me, bitch."

"The next person who calls me a bitch is going in the pool." Quinn drawled.

Rachel scraped her chair closer to Quinn's, wincing at the horrible sound it made. "What if you're acting like one?"

Santana laughed. "Then she'll throw you in _and_ fucking drown you."

"She wouldn't drown me." Rachel said confidently. "I have millions of fans. That would be like drowning millions of people."

Santana narrowed her eyes and glanced at Tina.

"She's serious." Tina nodded sagely.

"And you're one of those fans." Quinn said pointedly, smiling at Santana. "You'd be distraught if I drowned Rachel."

"Can we…stop talking about this, please?" Rachel suggested, frowning, wondering where the conversation had gone wrong.

Santana handed Quinn a beer and poured a drink for Rachel and Tina, and then went to sit by Mike to throw things at Sam in the pool. Quinn kicked off her shoes and slouched in her chair. Rachel flicked her flip-flops away and set her foot next to Quinn's, comparing them.

"Your toes are tiny." Quinn remarked.

Rachel pouted. "They're proportional to my body size."

"You're tiny."

"Your toes _are_ abnormally small, Rach." Tina contributed.

Rachel made a small noise of protest. She tried to shift so that her feet were hidden under her chair, but Quinn locked an ankle around her calf and wouldn't let her move.

Quinn shrugged. "They're cute." She watched Sam in the pool and sipped from her beer and tried to act casual.

Rachel caught Tina's eye and smiled.

"You and Sam have a lovely home, Quinn." Rachel complimented.

"It's lovely because of me. Sam would live in a hovel."

"Why did you move in with him, and not Santana or Mike?"

Quinn tapped her fingers along her thigh. "It's…He was helping me the most at the time. With my wheelchair and getting around and everything."

Rachel nodded quietly.

"And he makes boiled peanuts and gives me surfboards." Quinn smiled.

Tina scrunched up her nose. "You boil peanuts? What does that do to them? That sounds-"

"It makes them awesome!" Sam bounded in front of her-dripping wet-having caught her question. He slicked his hair back and shook like a dog.

"But they don't get…soggy, or-"

"Oh my-okay, dude, I need to-" Sam shook his head, eyes wide with disbelief. He spun in a small circle before grabbing Tina's wrist. "We're gonna make some now. They need to boil for like hours so you're gonna have to stay overnight, but whatever."

"Tina, just kick him if he gets too annoying." Quinn instructed loudly, watching as she hurried across the patio to keep up with Sam. "Or smash something. It'll be okay."

"Dump the boiling water on his head." Santana yelled.

Quinn cupped her hands around her mouth. "And make me some sweet potato fries, Samson!"

Rachel watched Sam, Tina, and Mike disappear through the sliding door. Santana followed, only because those people were her entertainment.

"He's not drunk, right?" Rachel asked about Sam. "He won't get Tina caught in some kind of kitchen fire or anything, right?"

Quinn choked on her beer. She coughed and sat forward and shook her head. "Sham knows his way around the kitchen. And he doesn't really drink."

Rachel nodded.

"And Santana would be the one to start a kitchen fire. She actually has."

"Can we get in the water?" Rachel asked abruptly. It was a hot night-the humidity was curling her hair and making it thicker-and the pool water looked cool and clean.

Quinn didn't even reply. She set her beer on the table, pulled the t-shirt over her head, stood up and took two strides before diving into the water in her red shorts and bikini top. She went smoothly-where Rachel would have belly flopped had she tried that-and she surfaced on the other end of the pool and flicked her hair out of her eyes.

Rachel laughed.

Quinn swam easily back to Rachel's end and folded her arms over the pool side. She hummed. "I don't think we can get in the water, Rachel. The owner's a real bitch about it."

"You're not a bitch." Rachel stood up and took off her own shorts and t-shirt.

"You're only saying that so I don't throw you in."

"I'm getting in anyway." Rachel sat on the edge next to Quinn's arms and lowered herself slowly into the water. "That would be useless. I'm saying it because you're not a bitch."

Quinn tipped her head, lantern lights reflected in her eyes. "Why are you going so slowly?"

"I thought it would be colder."

"It's nice, right?" Quinn watched Rachel carefully. The water was cool and comfortable on their sun-reddened skin. It lapped at Quinn's waist-Rachel's abdomen-and Quinn smiled at Rachel's cautious movements. She was acting like a ray or a jellyfish would swim up from underneath her.

"Race me." Quinn smiled, pulling Rachel lightly to the wall. "From here to the other side."

Rachel quickly dunked her head under the water. It was such an innocent act but it set Quinn's heart racing. Rachel wiped her hands over her face when she emerged, slicking back her dark hair. Quinn fixed her eyes on the opposite side of the pool instead of on the droplets rolling down Rachel's jaw.

"You're basically a lifeguard. How is that fair?" Rachel gripped the edge of the pool.

"I'm not a lifeguard. And my legs hurt." Quinn dipped in the water until only her head was above the surface. She raised an eyebrow at Rachel.

Rachel smiled and brought her feet up to the wall of the pool so that she was ready to push off.

"No cheating." Quinn warned.

"Say when, Fabray."

Quinn smirked. She waited a few seconds because Rachel seemed to be vibrating with anticipation. And then, "Go."

Rachel was off. Quinn observed that she'd gone with a sloppy forward stroke, complemented by frantic kicking of her feet. Quinn dropped below the water and pushed off the wall. She kept up easily with Rachel, and then seized Rachel's ankle right before they reached the opposite wall. Rachel squealed and stopped swimming, and Quinn re-surfaced and touched the edge of the pool first.

Rachel rounded on her, sputtering. "You said no cheating!"

Quinn blinked the water out of her eyes and frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Rachel's jaw dropped open. She took Quinn's arms and pushed her back against the wall of the pool, and Quinn grunted in surprise. Rachel pressed against Quinn's shoulders to keep her from squirming away.

"You grabbed my ankle!" she exclaimed.

Quinn's chest heaved. Her skin was hot, but she kept up the confused act. "I don't know what you're talking about, Rachel. Maybe it was an animal? We had an alligator in here once."

Rachel's eyes flickered away like she was actually considering that an alligator had grabbed her ankle.

She decided it wasn't likely.

She turned back to Quinn and realized how close they were. How her fingers dug into the soft skin of Quinn's upper arms, hair splayed messily over their faces, Quinn's sharp jaw and shining eyes watching her carefully. Rachel leaned forward absently. The pool wall was rough against Quinn's back.

"I won. You cheated." Rachel muttered. She felt dizzy and warm.

Quinn exhaled sharply. Rachel's nose bumped against hers-lips parted slightly.

She was spiraling wildly out of her tiny little circle.

Quinn swallowed. "Do it, Rachel Berry." She murmured.

Rachel's heart pounded. "I want to."

"I know you do."

"I can't." Rachel's grip on Quinn's arms tightened.

"Why not?" Quinn's voice was rough. She couldn't seem to control it. "Because I'm a girl?"

Rachel shook her head immediately. Water dripped down from her hair into her eyes and she blinked. "No. Because I'm a mess."

"So am I. Kiss me, Rachel."

It was a challenge.

Rachel couldn't refuse again. She tipped forward and pressed her lips against Quinn's. They were cool and wet and soft, and Quinn moaned slightly and tilted her head. She wrapped her arms around Rachel's waist and deepened the kiss. Rachel's hand landed on Quinn's jaw, fingertips brushing her ear.

"You smell like Starburst." Quinn breathed when she pulled back.

Rachel's nose pressed against her cheek. "Mango body lotion."

Quinn nodded. She turned them so that Rachel was the one pressed against the wall and kissed her again. She sucked on Rachel's bottom lip and tasted chlorine and vodka. Rachel's legs wrapped around her waist and her arms wrapped around Quinn's neck, and the little whiny noises she was making were sending shots of pleasure right to Quinn's toes.

"We…should stop." Quinn managed to get out when Rachel started kissing her jaw. "They-Sam just…barges in everywhere. There's no…everybody will see."

Rachel sucked on the spot right below Quinn's ear, and Quinn gasped and seized the edge of the pool to keep them both upright.

Rachel pulled back to look at her, surprised. Her lips were raw and red and everything tasted like chlorine. "Was that-did you just-"

Quinn shook her head, flushing furiously. "No, I'm-I'm just very unstable right now."

Rachel smiled slowly. She traced a thumb over the spot by Quinn's ear.

"We need-we should get out." Quinn stuttered. "We can have some…some boiled peanuts."

"Okay." Rachel said quietly. She unwound her legs and stood up and gave Quinn another kiss. Their noses knocked clumsily together, and Rachel smiled.

"I still won." Rachel murmured, sloshing slowly to the pool steps with Quinn's hand in hers.

Quinn pressed her lips together. Her head was swimming and fuzzy and she could think of absolutely nothing to say. Nothing was clear. So she focused on Rachel's warm hand and her tingling lips and nothing else.

Rachel handed Quinn a towel and smiled bashfully. The lights sparkled in her eyes and her hair was disheveled and curled, and Quinn dropped the towel and kissed her again. Tiny little circles be damned.


	7. Chapter 7

**Ain't That a Kick in the Head**

**Chapter 7**

Quinn perched on the edge of her bed and bounced lightly to wake Rachel up. They'd shared the bed-after much vodka and boiled peanuts and sweet potato fries-and only because Rachel wouldn't allow Quinn to sleep on the floor in her own home. And with her sketchy back.

Quinn was amused by how somebody with such a huge personality slept in such a tiny little ball. She shook Rachel's shoulder gently and bounced again.

"Oh my-_what_?" Rachel muttered, voice hoarse.

"Do you need a bucket? I have aspirin and Gatorade. Don't throw up on my sheets, please."

Rachel snorted into her pillow. She realized her face was pressed into a nice spot of drool. "I'm not hungover. It's the middle of the night."

"It's six a.m., actually." Quinn bent forward to tie the laces on her wedges. "I wanted to see if you'd like to come to church with me."

Rachel's eyes flicked over, surprised. Pleased.

"If you do, you need to hop up out of there now." Quinn kept her head down, waiting for her blush to fade. Her church was personal, and Rachel was aware of this. Quinn was opening doors left, right, and center, and she couldn't seem to stop herself.

"I would love to." Rachel agreed, voice rumbly. She sat up and ran a hand through her tangled, humidity-curled hair.

Quinn smiled slightly. "I like it like that."

"You told me."

Quinn nodded. She glanced around the room like she was seeing it for the first time-dark wood floor, white comforter, large sunny windows, two surfboards propped in the corner by the record player-and finally met Rachel's gaze again.

Rachel was smiling. "Are you going to leave so that I can get ready?"

Quinn stood quickly from the bed, nearly tripping over her feet. She took a step for the door, but felt Rachel's hand close around her wrist, tugging her back.

"I, um…Last night…It was fun." Rachel said vaguely-roughly- when Quinn plopped back onto the bed.

Quinn lifted an eyebrow.

Rachel's ears tinged red. "I mean, you don't seem like the type to want to discuss everything, but I…am. Sometimes." Rachel frowned suddenly, hands fisted in the comforter. "I didn't-I didn't dream it, right?"

"Dream what?" Quinn tipped her head, confused.

Rachel looked like she was having some kind of existential crisis, so Quinn had to laugh. She tilted forward and kissed Rachel, knotting her fingers in the dark tangles at the back of Rachel's head. And then she stood up and flushed and smiled at Rachel's expression, and left the room.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Rachel Berry. Memory problems, remember?" Quinn called as she walked down the hallway.

She shook her head at herself. Her circle was nowhere to be seen.

Rachel's heart was humming the whole time she was getting dressed. She couldn't seem to stop bouncing or fidgeting, and she put on a simple blue dress and flats and met Quinn in the driveway. Quinn wore a yellow dress and a denim jacket, and it was the first time Rachel had seen her not looking like she'd just rolled out of the ocean.

Quinn didn't even have to ask Rachel to drive. Rachel just smiled softly and took the keys from her hand and climbed into the car.

She decided to follow Quinn's lead, sans the Angelo's guacamole breakfast burrito Quinn forced her to stop and purchase.

The church was modern, moderately sized. The sanctuary was a fairly dark room, like an auditorium, with a low, wide stage where the pulpit stood. There were rows of chairs instead of pews and donuts on a table right outside the door. The worship band played inside and the bass rumbled through the speakers.

Quinn led Rachel through the small crowd, intent on reaching the donuts-aware that Rachel was getting some odd looks-when a woman with auburn hair and smile lines stepped out in front of her. There were two small children at her side and she rested her hands on their heads.

"Quinn, I've been looking for you!"

Quinn stopped short and smiled. "Hi Margaret. How are you?"

"Wonderful, honey. Absolutely wonderful. I've actually found a couple of new students for you!" Margaret moved her hands from the kids' heads to their shoulders. The girl bounced on her toes and the boy looked up shyly.

Rachel smiled at them.

"This is Robbie and Kayla from the youth group." Margaret informed.

"Robbie and Kayla." Quinn echoed. She leaned forward, hands on her knees, eyes narrowed like she was studying them. "And you guys want to learn how to surf?"

"Yes!" Kayla declared, smiling brightly.

Robbie nodded a little hesitantly.

"Are you totally sure?" Quinn lifted an eyebrow. "Because it's tons of fun. I need to make sure you can handle that. We have to be at the beach _every day_."

Kayla nodded vigorously. "I'm sure!"

"And you'll use tons of sunscreen, and maybe see some fish. Free t-shirts, hot dogs for lunch. My friend will even teach you how to make a surfboard."

"I said I'm sure!" Kayla laughed loudly.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I must not have heard!" Quinn smiled. "That's one!"

She looked at the little boy. "You know Robbie, I have a little blue foam board that would be perfect for you. If you decide you can handle all this fun, that is."

Rachel suppressed a laugh.

Robbie smiled slightly. "I would get a blue one?"

"You would! And, you know," Quinn straightened up and put a hand on the small of Rachel's back. Margaret's mouth dropped open in recognition. "This is my friend Rachel. I'm teaching her to surf right now, and she can tell you how much fun it is."

"Quinn is a wonderful teacher." Rachel indulged.

"You'll probably be better surfers than Rachel." Quinn said sagely. "She falls off all the time."

Rachel smacked her in the shoulder and the kids laughed.

"I didn't know you knew Miss Rachel Berry, Quinn." Margaret said, a bit flustered now, smiling at Rachel.

Quinn frowned and tipped her head. "Who's Rachel Berry?"

Rachel snorted. She'd come to expect that. She jabbed Quinn in the ribs and reached out to shake Margaret's hand. When Margaret spotted somebody else she needed to talk to, Quinn said goodbye to the kids and took Rachel's hand to lead her into the sanctuary and towards the stage.

She stopped at the bottom of the steps and tapped her thighs, unsure about this next part.

Rachel watched her steadily. "Do we sit down? Or are we going up there?"

"We can-I'm in the choir. So I'm-do you-would you like to sing with me?" Quinn rolled her eyes at herself. "With us, I mean?"

"Do you need to ask me that question?" Rachel teased gently.

Quinn pursed her lips. She led Rachel up the steps and towards the risers on one side of the stage. She smiled at the rest of the choir and whispered introductions, and Rachel blushed and nodded modestly as she was recognized. Quinn settled at the end of the bottom row, shoulder pressed snugly up against Rachel's.

Quinn pulled out a leather hymnbook, flipped it to the right page, and handed it to Rachel.

Rachel started off humming, just until she was comfortable with the tune. Quinn obviously knew the words by heart, and Rachel focused almost entirely on her voice-gentle and lilting and melodic. She didn't know what the protocol was after last night, but she knew this place was special to Quinn. Singing with these people was special.

It had to be, because Quinn's shoes were tied securely and her hair was free of salt and seawater.

Rachel sang easily, quietly, because she could probably overpower the majority of the others at her normal volume.

After three songs, the choir finished and the members took their seats. Quinn put a protective arm around Rachel's waist as they went back down the steps. It should be the last place for anybody to call paparazzi or report a sighting, but more and more people were recognizing Rachel.

Rachel nodded kindly at all of them and let Quinn lead the way.

"I knew you could sing." Rachel murmured when they were seated.

Quinn smiled slightly, side-eyeing her.

"I knew it. Your voice is beautiful. I'm a very good judge about those things."

Quinn's gaze dropped to her lap. Her cheeks burned and she shushed Rachel and tapped her fingers over the hem of dress. Rachel smiled and took Quinn's hand-ignoring her squirming-and pressed it against her lap to hold it still.

….

"What was the last number? A five?"

"Put the phone down, Sam." Quinn bit out, standing on the opposite side of the coffee table.

Sam held the phone off to his side. "Call her, Quinn. You need to call her before she jets off somewhere else for the summer. You know she won't make the first move."

His eyes were earnest, voice low. Quinn exhaled sharply and spun herself in a little circle. She'd come to the shop after a pleasant morning of church and donuts and fallen into his trap.

"I'll dial the number." Sam insisted. "I'll be right here, or I'll get lost. Whatever you want."

"I want you to stop pushing this." Quinn ran a hand through her hair. "I'll just-I'll wait until Christmas. I have so many other…things to think about."

Sam shook his head resolutely. "Quinn, she wants to see you."

"Then she needs to pick up the damn phone."

"She's scared."

Quinn ground her teeth together, ready to lunge over the table. "It's been years."

"Yeah. Time passed. Things have changed. That crash and the fallout and all that shit was _years_ ago." Sam watched Quinn simmer. He plowed on, used to her reactions. "Things were awful. I know."

"You can't-"

"_Listen_ to me." Sam said sharply.

Quinn's eyes flashed. She pressed her lips together.

"If your mom is out there, truly sorry and regretful and ready to offer unconditional love and support, I know you don't want to just ignore it." Sam held the phone limply in his hand, screen dark.

"I don't think you can. It'll just turn you dark. Darker."

"I'm not _dark_." Quinn scoffed, fists clenched.

"I will shape a custom thruster for you if you make this call. I'll clean the house, I'll make you sweet potato fries and boiled peanuts, I will do anything for you to call your mother because I know you will turn into an angsty, miserable lump if you don't."

Sam shrugged. "Hate your dad. But she loves you, bro."

Quinn's cheeks burned. Her eyes watered and she swiped at them with her hand. She shuffled in another tiny circle and Sam pretended that he couldn't see her crying.

"You think she'll want to come down here?" Quinn finally asked, voice wavering.

Sam nodded.

"If she does, and she's still the same, I won't-I can't-I won't be able to take it."

"I know." Sam said quietly.

Quinn pressed her fists into her eyes until they stopped watering. She tilted her head back and looked at the ceiling. "You can't just ambush me like that." She muttered.

"You know it's the only way. But I'd never actually call her for you."

Quinn's mind had been on Rachel. Specifically, Rachel's face when Quinn mentioned that alligators roam the beach all the time-which they didn't, obviously-and Quinn was learning how to illicit the funniest facial expressions.

Quinn didn't say anything. She sighed heavily-until her throat was clear and she felt like she could breathe again-and held out her hand for the phone.

Sam nearly tripped over himself trying to pass it to her. Quinn rolled her eyes.

"So I'll be-I'll go-" Sam stuttered and pointed towards the door.

"You stay, Samson." Quinn instructed.

He nodded slightly and dropped back onto the couch. Quinn paced in her tiny little circles and dialed the number.

….

Rachel gasped at the feeling of the doorknob jammed into her back. Quinn hummed sympathetically-but not really-and shifted her over slightly and then covered Rachel's mouth with her own. It was morning, dawn and dark, so everything was minty fresh. Quinn's hands roamed along the hem of Rachel's rashguard and Rachel's knotted in blonde hair.

Rachel arched lightly when Quinn's teeth pulled on her bottom lip. She hadn't planned this-a heated make out session before her surf lesson-and out of context it would seem like a horrible idea.

A _what in the world are you thinking, Rachel Berry_?

But Quinn's hands were warm and confident on her sides, and she tilted her head just so and ran her tongue along Rachel's teeth, and Rachel was just mush held up by a yellow door.

Quinn shifted so that her thigh was between Rachel's legs and Rachel gasped against Quinn's neck. "Okay, that's-I think we need-let's go-go have our lesson." Rachel stuttered.

Quinn drew her thigh away, dark eyes smiling.

Rachel searched for composure. "You're-you're in a very good mood this morning."

Quinn nodded.

"Sleep well?" Rachel's voice was rough. She cleared her throat.

Quinn shrugged. "Maybe." Her lips tipped up. "Maybe it's other things. Maybe I like kissing you. You know, I can give you a lesson right here."

"_Quinn_."

Quinn chuckled because Rachel looked so scandalized. Rachel pulled away and rubbed at her face, willing for her cheeks to cool down.

"Just-can we go to the beach now?" she asked, nearly begging.

She decided that she needed to get out of there before she did something stupid. Again.

Quinn nodded easily. She fixed her own hair and straightened her shorts, and then opened the door Rachel had been leaning against. She held it open and smiled as Rachel slipped through, head tucked down.

Rachel's lesson involved learning how to bail-to jump off the board at the right time without having it run right into her head or jerk her under the water. She'd hold her nose every time she jumped off, which amused Quinn. Rachel's head rarely even went under the water.

"It burns when it goes in your nose." Rachel defended, huffing at Quinn's laughter.

"Your hair isn't even wet. It'll clear your sinuses right out."

Rachel grimaced.

Quinn leaned in conspiratorially, water lapping at their knees. "You're not a surfer until you've been pummeled, you know. Put through the ringer, like a washing machine."

Rachel jutted out her chin. "Take me out to the big waves."

Quinn hummed. "And though she be but little, she is fierce."

Rachel blinked at her.

"Shakespeare. It's-"

"Oh my God." Rachel interrupted, looking over Quinn's shoulder to the shore.

Quinn spun around immediately. She frowned at the sight-two men with cameras standing right on the sand, out in the open. They were obviously pointed at Rachel, and Quinn turned around and shifted to block their view.

The guys just walked a few feet down the beach to fix their angle.

"What do you want to do?" Quinn murmured.

She searched Rachel's face. She looked calm, maybe a little angry because she was clenching her jaw a bit. Rachel held up her hand and smiled tightly at the paparazzi.

"Let's go back to the shop." Rachel said through her teeth. "Just calmly pick up our stuff and don't say anything."

Quinn nodded.

"I'm sorry. I don't know how they found me."

Quinn shrugged. "It's okay. Your face is prized, Rachel Berry."

Quinn reached under the water to unstrap Rachel's leash. She squeezed Rachel's calf before standing up and doing the stingray shuffle to the shore. The paparazzi kept about five feet away as Quinn grabbed her backpack and Rachel put on her flip-flops. Quinn kept herself glued to Rachel's side, poised and ready to throw the expensive cameras into the ocean.

"Good morning, Rachel! So you surf now? Is this for a movie? Or a therapy program?"

Quinn managed to keep her face impassive as she tied the leash around the surfboard's tail.

"Who's your friend, Rachel?"

"Was this trip to Florida planned? What are you doing about _Anything Goes_? Did something happen to make you skip town?"

They kept firing off questions as Rachel and Quinn reached the dunes at the top of the beach. Rachel walked quickly, purposefully-lips quirked slightly up but eyes blazing. Quinn followed along at an easy stride. She found it easy to ignore idiots, until she caught where they were walking out of the corner of her eye.

"Hey, watch the sea turtle nests." She said sharply, stopping abruptly.

The two guys halted and looked around, delighted that she was talking. "What was that?"

"Back off the orange tape, dumbass." Quinn bit out. "They're sea turtle nests. Are you illiterate?"

Perhaps she'd be less venomous if these pudgy, orange men in floral shirts showed any sliver of respect.

She gestured at the bright yellow sign and the guy laughed loudly. Quinn was about to put the longboard down when she felt Rachel's soft hand on her arm.

"Quinn, come on. It's okay."

"Yeah, keep your friend in check, Rachel!" One of the guys laughed.

Rachel cut her eyes over to them. "My friend will throw your goddamn cameras in the ocean if you don't back away from the nests. I can call the police if you'd like. Sea turtles are protected by state law."

Quinn's brow lifted in surprise.

"What happened to your leg, Rachel?" One of the guys asked, even as they moved away from the nest-probably because Rachel looked ready to attack them. "Bad trip?"

Rachel didn't move, so Quinn put an arm around her shoulders and nudged her forward gently. They walked up the beach access path, heads down.

"They're such…assholes." Rachel muttered once they hit the pavement and left the paparazzi behind.

Quinn hummed in agreement. She ducked her head to make sure Rachel wasn't crying or anything.

"You know, sea turtles are my favorite animal."

Rachel smiled slightly. "Are they?"

They hit the gravel parking lot of Jupiter Surf and Quinn stepped lightly in her bare feet. "I've watched the hatchlings go all the way to the water before, scuttling along. You'd love it. I'll show you sometime."

Rachel smiled gratefully up at Quinn. She kissed her cheek right inside the yellow door and then disappeared through the back for a shower.

Quinn dropped the longboard and set off to find her employees. Nobody asking for Rachel Berry would be allowed inside the shop.

…

Rachel could feel Santana's eyes boring into the side of her head. She cleared her throat awkwardly and focused on the box of shoes she was sorting through.

Santana haphazardly tossed several flip flops into a pile. "So...Berry." She said casually.

Rachel had six neat stacks in front of her, all for different brands and types of shoes. She piled them up meticulously and then subdivided them based on size.

"Yes, Santana?"

"I'm surprised." Santana mused. "You don't totally suck at this job."

"Well…Thank you." Rachel watched Santana throw a single slip-on canvas shoe onto her pile. She decided not to point out the inconsistencies in whatever method Santana was using.

"How long are you staying?"

"I told Quinn two months."

Santana side-eyed her. "Two months."

Rachel nodded.

"And then you'll go back to LA or New York or wherever." Santana clarified.

Again, Rachel nodded. "Yes, that's my plan."

Santana looked away and pursed her lips. She violently ripped open a new box and dumped all of the flip-flops onto the stockroom floor. Rachel kept to her sorting and stacking, not really sure what to do. She didn't know Santana very well, so maybe this was normal behavior.

"You know, Q smelled like mangoes this morning." Santana stated, cutting her eyes to Rachel.

Rachel blinked.

"Kind of like that fucking fruity, sweet stuff you wear."

"…Oh." Rachel wondered if Santana knew more than she was letting on. "Okay?"

Santana stared at her. "You know I'm not blind, right? You may be a goddamn movie star, but you can't just mess with-"

"I'm not messing with anybody." Rachel cut in quickly.

She wasn't really sure what she was doing, actually. For once in her life she was just rolling.

Santana narrowed her eyes and studied Rachel. She held two different kinds of shoes in her hand, neither of which seemed to have a match.

"She doesn't do casual." Santana finally said, less malice in her voice. Rachel assumed she was talking about Quinn.

"But everybody else does. So Quinn's the one who ends up stupid and lonely and angry, and I'm the one making sure she doesn't drink herself into a stupor and die trying to surf in the middle of the night."

Santana's gaze was hard. Rachel held it seriously.

"And-I mean-we don't even know why you're here." Santana turned back to her messy piles of shoes. "You could have killed somebody or some shit like that."

"I have never committed a crime in my life." Rachel said quietly.

Santana shrugged. "You look like the type."

Rachel smiled wryly. "I don't know what you think you know, but I'm really not trying to mess with anybody. You-everybody here has been great to me."

Santana nodded vaguely. Rachel opened the last box of shoes and started adding pairs to her meticulous piles. They worked in silence for several minutes until a thought occurred to Rachel.

She tipped her head and glanced at Santana. "What was Quinn like in high school? And college?"

Santana laughed abruptly. She surveyed Rachel with a raised brow. "Seriously?"

Rachel nodded eagerly.

"She was stupid, angry, and lonely in high school." Santana said bluntly. "She was head cheerleader, valedictorian, insanely fucking successful but absolutely miserable."

Rachel frowned sadly.

Santana squinted at her curiously. "What has she told you about her family?"

"Not…anything, really."

Santana hummed. "Course not." She muttered.

"What was that?" Rachel leaned forward.

Santana shook her head. "She sang, she danced, she was little miss perfect over-achiever for three years of college."

Rachel chuckled.

"What has she told you about after college?" Santana wondered.

Rachel decided there must be much more to Quinn's story if Santana had to keep checking what she knew-making sure she didn't reveal anything that Quinn didn't want her to.

"She told me…about the accident. And how she was paralyzed and she moved here with you guys." Rachel described. "And Sam taught her to surf."

Santana hummed.

"Is there more?" Rachel asked cautiously.

Santana laughed. "Berry, Quinn is a dictionary of issues. I love that idiot like a sister, but there's always more. She never caught a break."

"Oh, dude," Sam leaned against the doorway and waved when Rachel and Santana turned to look at him. "You talkin' about her parents? Man, if I've ever seen-"

"Sam, what the hell?" Santana threw a shoe at his face. He deflected it with his arms. "Get lost."

Sam pouted and rubbed at his arm. "Quinn's looking for you, Rachel."

Rachel popped up, leaving her shoes in their neat stacks. She patted Sam's shoulder as she left the room and found Quinn standing in the grass just outside the yellow door of the lounge. Quinn smiled at her and quickly kissed the corner of her mouth.

"Have lunch with me?" she asked quietly.

Rachel's heart fluttered. She nodded. "Santana said you smell like mangoes."

Quinn frowned-and then groaned-as they crossed the gravel parking lot. She smelled the front of her shirt and grimaced. "It's that Starburst smell, Rachel. It contaminates me."

"It's mango body lotion." Rachel laughed.

Quinn sighed.

"You wouldn't smell like that if you weren't trying to kiss me all the time." Rachel reminded.

"Maybe I should stop." Quinn was only half joking.

Rachel looked up at her curiously, a little smug. "I don't think you can."

Quinn chose not to answer. Whether she _could_ stop or not was irrelevant, because she'd be forced to soon enough. Right now, she liked kissing Rachel and she was hungry for one of Brittany's cheeseburgers.

She ran a hand through her salty hair and smiled at Rachel. "I don't think you want me to."


	8. Chapter 8

**Ain't That a Kick in the Head**

**Chapter 8**

Quinn nearly choked when Rachel's fingers slipped under the red waistband of her shorts. She staggered back into the shower wall-temporarily blinded by the sun-and jammed her heel into the wooden slats. Rachel chuckled against her throat and dragged a single finger up Quinn's side. It left a pale path in the sun-darkened skin.

She consciously lingered on one of Quinn's scars, and Quinn shook her head and tipped unsteadily forward for Rachel's lips again.

They were gritty and soaked and pressed up against the splintery wall of an outdoor shower, but Quinn was one breathy little moan away from pulling on the knot of Rachel's bikini and dropping to her knees.

Her own shorts were twisted sideways, and she was pretty sure her rashguard was lying in a wet pile on the beach.

"I love your hair." Quinn rumbled, twisting so that Rachel was the one pressed against the wooden shower slats.

Rachel chuckled against her mouth. "I know."

Quinn dragged her fingers through the dark, tangled locks. Rachel's hair smelled like saltwater, curly and wild. Quinn's fingers caught in a knot and Rachel hummed at the feeling.

"You should…take this off." Quinn breathed. She ran her thumbs along the strap of Rachel's bikini.

"Sam's going to barge in."

Quinn shook her head. "He's…building something. Or doing something."

"Then Santana. Or Mike."

Rachel stared up at the sky to catch her breath. She kept her hands on Quinn's sides-warm and slightly sticky from the ocean-and groaned lowly when Quinn's mouth dropped to her collarbone.

"They'll knock." Quinn said thickly, staring at the red marks she'd trailed down Rachel's neck.

She decided it was worth the sand in her mouth, the grit between her teeth.

"Okay!" Rachel declared when Quinn's fingers slid smoothly under her bikini strap. She knocked her elbows into the wall in her haste to seize Quinn's wrists. "O-okay. Just-let's-we need to stop."

Quinn stared blankly, chest heaving.

"It's…not…" Rachel licked her lips and glanced away, gathering her thoughts.

Once she got past Quinn's thigh pressing against her own, Quinn's fingers wrapped warmly around her upper arms, all she could see was the last time she'd been carried away.

"What?" Quinn panted, searching her face.

Rachel couldn't look at Quinn's lips, salt and sun-chapped and swollen, because she'd be drawn right back in. She couldn't look at her slicked blonde hair or the skin above or below those faded red shorts.

"Is there something in your eye?" Quinn gripped Rachel's chin and tilted her face up to check. "Sand? I'll help you wash it out."

"No, no. I just…need to stop."

Quinn nodded. She let go of Rachel's face, but it was a moment before she stepped back because her legs felt too weak to support her weight. She turned on the water for the shower and studied Rachel while it warmed.

She seemed to be looking at every detail of the shower-the flip flops in the corner, sand around the edges, trees on the other side of the wooden slats-just to avoid glancing at Quinn. Quinn tipped her head, curious. A little smug.

"You alright?" Quinn drawled, rinsing the sand from her ankles.

Rachel hummed vaguely.

"Yeah? Are you sure?"

Rachel didn't reply, and Quinn straightened up under the stream of water, watching her carefully. She washed the sand from her hair while Rachel picked at the grit under her nails.

"Did I do something wrong?" Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Have you lost your voice? You definitely had it earlier."

Rachel bit her cheek. "_Quinn_."

Quinn smiled slightly.

"You haven't done anything." Rachel assured.

"Why won't you look at me?"

Rachel laughed shakily. She cleared her throat and met Quinn's eyes. Her dark gaze sent a shockwave through Rachel. Quinn smiled knowingly at her discomfort.

"I think…we probably need to talk." Rachel managed, frowning at the high pitch of her voice. "About something."

"Something." Quinn echoed.

"Yes."

"So…manatees?" Quinn pulled a towel from the fence to dry her hair. "I like them, personally. Definitely pro-manatee. They're endangered. Related to dugongs."

Rachel sighed, smiling slightly.

Quinn put on a Jupiter Surf t-shirt and patted down her hair. "Talk to me about sweet potatoes, Rachel Berry. Gorgeous orange fries."

"You are…ridiculous." Rachel stepped under the shower flow to rinse her own hair.

Quinn was distracted by her arched back, the smooth skin of her thighs. Her eyes widened and she decided Rachel had to be purposely posing like that.

"You want to talk about something else?" Quinn asked absently.

"Please."

Quinn nodded. She pried her eyes away a moment later and pushed open the door to the shop. "Should I be worried?"

She was only half-joking. She grabbed her shortboard out of the corner of the shower and tucked it under her arm.

Rachel smiled softly and shook her head.

"Then I'll be in here when you're ready. Somewhere around." Quinn informed. Rachel just nodded at her. Quinn finally stepped back through the door, scraping the fins of her shortboard along the wall like she'd done so many times before.

She dropped it into the corner of the lounge, drank half a bottle of water, and then fell onto the couch to wait for Rachel.

…

Quinn was curled up and snoring into the couch cushions when Rachel came out of the shower. Rachel laughed quietly at the sight and sat in the armchair to type the Pro-Am schedule into Quinn's computer.

She was about half an hour into it, entering "Sunday, 4 PM: Awards Ceremony and Closing Party- Jupiter Beach Pier," when Quinn shifted and stretched. She groaned loudly, and Rachel could just imagine how she looked, so she kept her eyes on the laptop screen.

"Why don't you participate in the surf contest?" she wondered distractedly.

Quinn blinked against the light and rubbed at the sand on her arms. "What?"

"You can surf. You should compete."

"Mm. No."

Rachel smiled. "Not as a professional, but…look." She spun the laptop for Quinn to see. "Women's amateur, eighteen to thirty-four division. Have you tried competing before?"

Quinn glanced at the screen. "I don't want to."

"But you've tried?"

Rachel looked over at Quinn when she didn't receive an answer. Quinn was confused-nothing new-and she ran a hand through her hair as she searched for her glasses. She hadn't slept _on_ them, and they weren't on her head.

"What are you doing?" Rachel asked.

"Have you seen-I think I was wearing my glasses, but I can't find them."

Rachel watched her search. "You weren't wearing them when you fell asleep."

Quinn stopped lifting and examining pillows, brow furrowed.

"Quinn, you've only been there for half an hour." Rachel chuckled.

"Oh." Quinn sank back into the cushions and propped her bare feet on the coffee table. "Okay. I thought-that's right, we were surfing. And then…"

Quinn's eyes cleared and she smirked. "S_howering_."

Rachel watched her behavior curiously.

"And no, I've never competed and I'm not going to start now." Quinn shook her head. "But I'm sure we can stick you in a grom division if you'd like. You'll blend right in with the kiddies."

Rachel scoffed and turned back to the laptop. "Just so you know, you have sand stuck to half your face."

"You wanted to talk to me, right?" Quinn lifted her t-shirt to rub it against her cheek. "Not about manatees or sweet potatoes."

"Right."

"Well, I'm awake."

Rachel shut the laptop and turned to face Quinn. She had no plan, no point, just things to sort through. A tangled mess of things that she'd probably just make worse. Quinn watched intently.

"Santana told me you don't do casual." Was the first thing that made it out of Rachel's mouth.

Quinn recoiled slightly, eyes narrowed.

"Which-I mean-I don't know how _else_ you'd describe what we've been doing." Rachel managed. She fiddled with the hem of her shorts because Quinn was just staring at her. "And I'm pretty sure Santana's harboring suspicions that I'm a murderer."

"You talked to Santana?"

Rachel hummed. "She talked…at me."

Quinn's gaze hadn't wavered. Rachel could see glittery specks of sand on her cheeks.

"She told you-_God_, Rachel, don't listen to Santana." Quinn sat back against the cushions and shook her head. Her friends were _fools_.

"I…think she's right." Rachel hedged.

Quinn stared again. "Really." Her lips quirked. "About the murderer part? Because that's the only part I'd believe."

"I don't understand why everybody thinks I've committed some crime!" Rachel nearly shrieked.

Quinn was unaffected. "Because we don't know where you _came_ from. You tripped over me, called me a bitch, got stung by a man o' war, and now you're here."

Rachel sighed.

"And just because I _don't do casual_," Quinn put finger quotes around the words, "doesn't mean I don't want to keep…I like this."

"I'm leaving in less than three weeks." Rachel said bluntly.

Quinn cut her eyes over. "And I have a dental check-up next month. Who gives a damn? Live for now."

"People will see us. People will talk."

"People are idiots. I'll follow your lead."

Rachel laughed, exasperated. "You are…very frustrating." She tipped her head back against the chair and closed her eyes.

Quinn nodded shortly.

"Casual is fine." Rachel mused softly. "You know, as long as nobody falls in love."

Quinn was silent for a minute, wondering if Rachel was making a point. She decided she couldn't tell and would make a fool of herself if she assumed. She shrugged and smiled slightly. "Some people make it so easy."

Rachel couldn't really handle reading anything into that remark. Quinn's smirk was telling. Rachel sighed and resigned herself to what she was about to do.

"Let's have dinner." She declared. Quinn's brows lifted. "No sweet potatoes, no peanuts. And I'll-maybe if I tell you why I'm here you'll stop suspecting that I've killed people."

A slow smile spread over Quinn's face. "Are you taking me out, Rachel Berry?"

"No."

Quinn stood up and walked to Rachel's chair. She leaned over, hands resting on one of the arms, and ducked to catch Rachel's gaze. "Are you absolutely positive?"

Rachel nodded shortly.

"Santana was right, you know." Quinn murmured, not budging an inch. "I don't do casual. But I don't think it's casual when the other person feels exactly the same way as I do."

Rachel nodded again. She managed to breathe when Quinn backed off and stood up straight.

Quinn smiled down at her. "I'm meeting Sham about a sponsor right now. You pick the place tonight."

Rachel couldn't stop nodding. Quinn chuckled to herself and headed for the door, trying to untangle her hair on the way.

"Your face is still covered in sand," was all she heard from Rachel. It was loud and shaky, and Quinn smiled.

….

Rachel walked into the lounge at exactly 6 p.m., bags and baskets of food in hand. She'd realized belatedly that she didn't know any restaurants in the area, so she decided on an outdoor dinner-a picnic. Sweet and simple.

And then she considered that a picnic in Florida just involved sitting in a muggy swamp and being eaten by mosquitoes. Maybe alligators?

So Rachel was a little frantic when she strode through the yellow door and spied Quinn and Santana on the couch.

"You know, you don't usually have to bring your own food to a restaurant." Quinn remarked. She'd obviously made some kind of effort, in a skirt and actual lace-up shoes, even though she'd been explicitly told this was not a date.

Or maybe the shoes were just so unfamiliar on her that it only seemed like she'd made an effort.

Santana narrowed her eyes at Rachel.

"I realized that I'm not exactly familiar with the restaurants in the area yet." Rachel explained, ignoring Quinn's smirk. "So I packed our dinner. I'm sorry, I was going to pick somewhere for seafood, but…I should have allotted more time to plan this."

Quinn shrugged easily. "Not a date."

"Quinn doesn't like seafood." Santana stated bluntly, eyes still narrowed.

Rachel looked to Quinn, surprised. "But you live on the beach."

"And you live in Los Angeles." Quinn smiled. "Do you eat celebrities?"

Rachel scoffed. She stiffened slightly when Santana got up from the couch and walked towards her. Santana stopped inches away, staring down at her, even though Rachel was only slightly shorter. Rachel lifted her chin and tried not to step back.

"Berry."

Rachel cleared her throat. "Santana."

Santana nodded and continued through the yellow door.

Quinn chuckled when they were alone, head tipped back against the couch. She watched Rachel relax.

"She'll get softer. She has a date tonight."

Rachel nodded. She observed Quinn's slouched form and lifted a brow. "Are you going to get up anytime soon? Or would you prefer to lie there all night?"

Quinn stood up-groaning exaggeratedly- and balanced against the couch to pry the shoes from her feet. She pointed at the flats Rachel was wearing. "You won't need those."

"Are you choosing our picnic spot?" Rachel asked warily.

"I am."

"And we won't need shoes?"

"We won't." Quinn crossed the room and took one of the bags from Rachel's hands. She shook it around curiously, watching Rachel's face. Rachel kept it blank.

"Will I like what you've scrounged up?"

Rachel shrugged and headed out the door. "It's too bad if you don't. More for me."

Quinn laughed to herself. She followed Rachel outside and guided her towards the familiar path to the beach. Rachel was unsurprised with the direction. The sun was only just starting to set as they reached the dune line. Quinn usually went right-towards the pier to surf-but she turned left tonight and led Rachel about a hundred yards down the beach.

"How far are we going?" Rachel wondered when Quinn showed no signs of stopping.

Quinn bobbled her head. "All the way, probably."

"What does that even mean?"

Quinn spun and walked backwards for a few steps, skirt flowing lightly in the breeze. She shrugged at Rachel and swung her bag of food alarmingly high. "What are you talking about?"

Rachel shook her head.

"Actually, right here." Quinn stopped abruptly. She set the food lightly on the sand and reached for Rachel, guiding her towards a sea turtle nest marked off by neon orange tape. It was at the base of the dune, and it looked exactly the same as three other nests they'd passed.

Quinn's fingers were light on the small of Rachel's back as they observed it. Rachel awwed, even though all she could see was sand.

"This is marked from last month, so they should be hatching soon." Quinn explained quietly.

"Tonight?"

"Anytime." Quinn shrugged. "If you come back often enough you're bound to see it happen."

Rachel nodded.

"I thought we could dine with the turtles." Quinn smiled. She let go of Rachel and plucked the blanket from the basket, and Rachel helped her set it on the sand several yards from the nest. Then she sat down, legs stretched out in front of her, and waited expectantly for Rachel to feed her.

"I brought pasta salad, banana bread, and tempeh sushi rolls, all vegan." Rachel described, pulling small containers from her bags. "There's a strawberry fizz cocktail, probably heavy on the gin, and regular lemonade."

Quinn nodded easily with each new gift.

Rachel smiled slightly and pulled the last container from the bag, watching Quinn's reaction. "And sweet potato fries."

Quinn grinned. Her cheeks warmed and she caught Rachel's gaze, nodding her thanks.

"Changed your mind, huh?" Quinn murmured.

Rachel hummed casually. "I just don't feel like dealing with a petulant child all night."

Quinn was so focused on removing the top of the box of fries that she missed the comment. She stuffed several in her mouth and moaned loudly, and then grabbed a paper plate to fill with pasta and banana bread.

Rachel watched her, pleased and amused.

She poured out their drinks and prepared her own plate. The waves were quiet and the sun was dropping, and she realized mosquitoes and mugginess weren't really problems by the ocean.

"You were going to tell me who you killed, right?" Quinn wondered, hand over her mouth.

She'd been watching Rachel watch the waves-curly haired, red faced, tan lines on her shoulders. So different from the Rachel who fell into her a couple weeks ago. Who called her an inconsiderate bitch and then came crawling back for medical attention. Quinn smiled.

Rachel chewed on her pasta and plucked her banana bread into little pieces. "I want you to know what you've gotten yourself into, because I'm really not-I mean, you'll probably see me as a different person after this."

Quinn watched her silently.

"I know _I_ do." Rachel laughed wryly.

"I doubt I will." Quinn sandwiched a handful of fries between two slices of banana bread and took a bite. She gazed challengingly at Rachel, daring her to just say it. To spit it out.

Rachel decided it was a nice night for a breakdown.

"I slept with the casting director of _Anything Goes_."

The only sign that Quinn heard her was a brief pause in chewing. She watched Rachel intently.

"Not _because_ he was the casting director." Rachel explained hurriedly. "It just-he was-it had nothing to do with work." She took a sip from her drink and coughed a bit.

"No judgement, Rachel. Slow yourself." Quinn said calmly. She nodded at Rachel's food. "Eat and talk. It's okay."

Rachel searched her face. Clear eyes, sharp chin, cheeks full of food. Quinn looked fine so far, so she continued.

"We…had met several times about the movie, and he's-he's very charming. And talented, and _incredibly_ full of himself."

Quinn grimaced slightly.

"I really wasn't myself. I was constantly working, not sleeping, trying to please everybody but pleasing _nobody_." Rachel took a bite of her pasta, staring at her lap. "Jesse-that's his name, Jesse St. James-we met at a bar to discuss the role. We were drinking, and I'm pretty sure I started singing."

Quinn chuckled into her drink.

Rachel sighed. "It's not funny."

Quinn's smile dropped immediately. "Sorry, you're right."

"He came home with me, and we were talking about our dream roles and our favorite musicals, and he just-we just…" Rachel frowned and shook her head. It wasn't even clear in her mind. "I fell out of bed at three in the morning and he'd already left."

Quinn watched her carefully. She leaned forward to catch her gaze and discovered that the sight of Rachel crying was incredibly saddening, like nothing before.

Rachel swiped at her eyes and laughed shortly. "I had…I slept with the producer and casting director of _Anything Goes_. The perfect role for me." She took a deep breath, unable to hold Quinn's gaze. "I think I lost my mind, I was such an idiot. I had to leave."

"You weren't an idiot." Quinn murmured.

Rachel rubbed her hands over her eyes until she was sure she could stop crying. Quinn scooted closer and rested a warm hand on her knee.

"Has he said anything to you about it?" she asked softly. "Is he trying to use it against you?"

Rachel shook her head quickly.

"And you were okay? When it happened? And you're okay now?"

Rachel nodded, warmed by Quinn's concerned tone. "It had nothing to do with the role. They'd already offered it to me. I was just being stupid."

Quinn scoffed quietly. "You weren't stupid."

"I got caught up. I think I'm different now."

Quinn was silent for a while. She rubbed Rachel's knee absently and stared at the waves. Really, this revelation had changed nothing. Everybody rolls a little off course sometimes. Quinn had rolled all the way down to Florida.

"It hasn't changed anything. It's not who you are." Quinn finally said, reaching for more fries.

Rachel smiled sadly at her. "You met me two weeks ago, Quinn. You don't know."

"I do, actually."

Rachel's smile faded to confusion, and then curiosity. She tipped her head and stared at the side of Quinn's face.

Quinn licked her lips. This would blast her circle to bits.

"I met you in high school. Once." She admitted quietly-sheepishly-because it was such a random thing to hold so closely to her heart.

Rachel's jaw slowly dropped.

"At a glee competition. You sang'Don't Let the Stars Get in Your Eyes.'" Quinn dumped sweet potato fries into her pasta just to have something to do with her hands. "By Perry Como, and then Dean Martin. Don't let the stars get in your eyes, don't let the moon break your heart."

Rachel's gaze- wide eyed and red rimmed-was fixed on Quinn's face.

Quinn ran a hand through her hair, realized her hand was coated with grease, and then grimaced and wiped at her face with her arm. She smiled hopelessly and glanced at Rachel.

"You know, I think you think I'm joking when I tell you I have memory problems."

Rachel's mouth dropped open further. "What?"

"The first time I ever saw your name was in your high school glee club's program." Quinn continued, half-smiling. "Rachel Berry, team captain. I stopped you in the hall-on a whim, or _something_- and told you your voice was beautiful, and you thanked me and offered an autograph, which I didn't get."

Rachel's eyes darted around, confused. "You-I can't believe-what-"

"Your name stuck with me, Rachel Berry." Quinn tipped forward and took a bite of her pasta salad fry mixture. She bobbled her head, pleased with it.

"And your voice. I forgot some things after the accident." Quinn's voice was low and even. She watched wide brown eyes. "But that song you sang just stuck. I don't even know why. Sham calls me scatter-brained, _jackass_, but Rachel Berry never goes away."

Rachel pressed a hand over her mouth.

Quinn had tokens to remember things. Her cross, the stickers on her board. Rachel thought over her habits-loose and laid back, shoeless, messy. She scooted right next to Quinn and wrapped both arms tightly around her waist.

"That's right." Quinn's voice was rough, but smiling. She was reeling with what she'd just done-a little stunned at herself- and she rubbed a hand over Rachel's back. "You just latched on, Rachel Berry. I can't get rid of you."

"Seriously? Because I'm trying to push you away!" Rachel laughed desperately. She pressed her face against Quinn's shoulder and tried to process everything.

"I'm not going away."

"Why didn't you tell me you knew me? Or you'd met me?"

Quinn ducked her head. She took another bite of her food with Rachel's arms still wrapped around her waist. "You wouldn't have remembered." She mumbled. Rachel watched her cheeks turn pink in the setting sun. "And it was…I don't know, _special _to me. Or something."

Quinn cringed internally. It was the only way to describe something that stuck in her head for nearly eight years. Special. And stupid.

"I owe you an autograph." Rachel said softly.

Quinn's lips quirked. "You have given me _much_ better than an autograph."

"Have you followed my career this whole time?"

Quinn cleared her throat and filled her mouth with fries. She shrugged casually, and Rachel chuckled against her shoulder.

"I know you're still you, Rachel." Quinn said after a moment. "No matter what you think you messed up. The Rachel Berry who got herself stung by a man o' war and came crying to me is the same girl who offered me an autograph when I told her she had a nice voice."

"Beautiful voice." Rachel corrected quietly.

Quinn rolled her eyes. "_Terrible_ voice."

"I don't know what to do now."

"Be Reno Sweeney." Quinn shrugged. "Drink your strawberry stuff, eat your fishy stuff, help me with the Pro-Am, and be Reno Sweeney."

Rachel absently kissed Quinn's shoulder. "That's not what I meant."

Quinn hummed. She turned her head so that her nose brushed against Rachel's. She kissed her lips, clumsily because of the angle-tasting gin and saltwater- and smiled at the little noise Rachel made.

"Then Rachel Berry, I have no idea what you're talking about."


	9. Chapter 9

**Ain't That a Kick in the Head**

**Chapter 9**

"They know where you are, Rachel. They have found you, and they'll be coming for you soon."

Rachel rolled her eyes at Kurt's dramatics.

"People accept that you're on a vacation," Kurt continued, "and not having some kind of alcoholic, drug-induced breakdown, thank _God_, but they want pictures. They want the whole story. Those two guys on the beach the other day are nothing compared to what could be coming."

Rachel rubbed her hand over her face and sighed. Kurt had been doing all the talking since she'd answered the phone five minutes ago-in the middle of the night, again, because Kurt refused to respect the time zone difference.

"And what could be coming, Kurt?" she asked reluctantly, staring at her reflection in the sliding glass door.

"We're going to keep playing this like a vacation. You're meeting up with old friends."

Rachel smiled slightly. That was sort of true.

"So everything you _do_ needs to support that story." Kurt dragged out the statement, spelling it out for a child. "Always assume somebody's taking a picture. Assume they're listening and watching, because they will be."

"Kurt, come on." Rachel glanced around her hotel room, paranoid.

"I'm serious, Rachel. I don't exactly know this _Quinn Fabray_,"

Rachel could hear the smile in his voice.

"But I know that you know to keep whatever you're doing with her out of the light." Kurt paused. "Right? I'm right, right? Tell me I'm right. I need to know if Tina's feeding me false information again."

"Quinn and I aren't…" Rachel shook her head. "I mean, you're not _wrong_."

A muffled shriek came through the phone.

"But it's not like we're having sex on the pier and planning out our future together."

"Good." Kurt said resolutely. "I could do without the mental image, but good. Because I need you home in two weeks."

Rachel's breath hitched. She blinked at her reflection in the sliding door- sweats and a t-shirt, curly hair, eyes wide.

"You have an audition." Kurt plowed on. "A twisted romantic comedy, sort of dark if you look in the right places. I sent you the script in case you pass on _Anything Goes_."

"I…" Rachel tangled a hand in her hair and groaned silently. "That's not-"

"Oh, and I'd love a decision about _Anything Goes_ within the next ten years, please."

"I still have four weeks left here, Kurt." Rachel spun in an anxious little circle by her bed. "I'm not coming back early."

"Are you doing _Anything Goes_?"

Rachel paced towards the door and searched for her shoes. "I don't know. But I'm not doing some silly little rom com in its place."

Kurt sighed like he'd expected nothing less. "If you came home sooner I'd have a lot less to deal with, you know. We could put all this bad press behind us. I wouldn't have to spin _every single story_ that crosses my desk. Talk about future projects, get your fans excited for something. _Please_ think about it."

Rachel clenched her jaw, grabbed her room key, and headed out the door.

"Two weeks." Kurt repeated. His voice softened. "You two still have some time."

"Maybe." Rachel mumbled. It was all she could get out without throwing her phone against the wall or breaking down in the elevator. She'd been counting on four more weeks. The thought of cutting that in half made her throat close up.

"Just let me know, sweetie. I'll be waiting."

Rachel hung up as she crossed the lobby. It occurred to her that she'd brought nothing-no ID, no bag, no cash-and her shoes were still soaked from the rain she'd run through earlier.

The cool night air allowed her to breathe, and to decide that _no_, she wouldn't even consider Kurt's idea. For now. She walked quickly because now she'd be forever paranoid that she was being stalked. She smiled automatically when she hit the gravel of Jupiter Surf.

The yellow side door wasn't locked, and Rachel rolled her eyes as she pushed it open. Mars was lying on top of the armchair, eyes glowing in the light from the moon. He blinked lazily and rolled to the side, obviously not the guard cat Quinn trusted him to be.

Rachel shut and locked the door, and then crept quietly towards the couch.

"Oh no," Quinn mumbled. Rachel smiled at her groggy voice. "Here it comes."

Quinn was stretched out on the couch with her face pressed into the cushions. Her blanket was tangled around her legs because it was just too hot to keep it on, and her shirt was twisted about halfway up her back.

Rachel leaned over and prodded where she expected Quinn's side was. "Hey, scoot over. I'm sleeping here tonight."

"No." Quinn grumbled, pressing herself forward against the cushions. "You 'kay?"

Rachel suspected she wasn't fully awake. She tugged down Quinn's shirt, dragged the blanket up her legs, and climbed behind her on the couch.

"Fine, honey. Go back to sleep."

"Don't…snore." Quinn murmured.

Rachel kissed Quinn's shoulder. "I won't. Do you?"

"Mm. Good." Quinn chuckled absently. She reached blindly for Rachel's hand and buried her face further into the couch cushions.

Rachel hugged her tightly, much closer than she would have if Quinn was fully awake. The couch was warm and sandy, with grit in every crevice. Quinn's hair smelled like saltwater and Rachel was dangerously close to going back over the edge, but she decided that she'd have to be crazy to trade four weeks of this for anything.

…

Mars woke her up, plodding along her side and digging into her ribs. Rachel blindly shoved him away and blinked open her eyes, confused. Her limbs felt achy and horrible and she was definitely not in her bed. One leg was slung over the edge of the couch and the other was jammed uncomfortably into the opposite arm. The blanket was nowhere to be seen.

She could _feel_ the deep sleep lines in her face.

"Hey there."

Rachel wiped discreetly at her mouth and lifted her head to see Quinn. She stood on the opposite side of the room with a waffle in her hand and an amused smile on her face. She wore a light jacket-black leather, Rachel noted immediately-and dark jeans, and Rachel glanced self-consciously down at herself to make sure she hadn't lost any clothing in the night.

Quinn sidled up and sat on the coffee table.

"So, I found something in my bed this morning that wasn't there when I went to sleep." She drawled. Her smirk faded to confusion and she took a bite of her waffle. "I don't know how it got there."

"It's not a bed. It's a couch." Rachel said thickly.

And she decided to never sleep on it ever again. She tried straightening her leg out and winced at the pain in her knee.

"Maybe it slithered up through the floorboards." Quinn frowned. "Or maybe it was living under the cushions."

"Quinn, shut your face." Rachel rasped, attempting to sit up. She groaned at the cracking in her hip and rotated her shoulder experimentally.

Quinn held out her half-eaten waffle, eyebrow raised.

Rachel snorted slightly. "No, thank you."

"If you do some stretching you can work it out." Quinn offered easily. "Some gymnastics maybe. Do a few flips and you'll be good as new."

"How do you _sleep_ here?"

Quinn shrugged. "It's built for one. My back seems to like it." She tipped her head and watched Rachel closely. "Are you okay? I really don't remember you coming in."

Rachel smiled softly, despite the pain in her joints. "Fine. I think you were half asleep."

"You're sure?" Quinn shoved the rest of her waffle into her mouth and brushed the crumbs off her lap. "Nothing happened?"

"Everything's fine."

Quinn didn't believe her. She'd woken up wrapped in Rachel Berry-not that she really wanted to complain-but there had to be a reason. Rachel's knee would probably be locked into the same position for the next few days, and that was worth something.

"Alright, Rachel Berry. Put some clothes on because we're going to Miami." Quinn clapped and stood up to fetch another waffle.

"What? Why?" Rachel ran a hand through her tangled hair, pouting at the state of her morning.

"Meeting a potential supplier." Quinn accidentally tipped the box of Eggo waffles upside down, sending about five of them cascading to the floor. She crouched and slid them all back into the package, and then grabbed a sticky note and a marker and wrote "For Sham" on the box before shoving it back in the freezer.

Rachel stared at her from across the room.

"So that's why you're dressed like that." She mused, after deciding Sam would be fine with a few contaminated waffles.

Quinn cut her eyes over. "Like what?"

"Like a member of civilized society." Rachel crossed the room to Quinn, ignoring her narrowed eyes.

Rachel's own gaze was fixed on the collar of Quinn's leather jacket. It sat about halfway up her neck, sharpening her jaw and absolutely _fascinating_ Rachel. Quinn's hair was pulled back-clean, for once-and her sunglasses were tucked into the V of her t-shirt. Rachel tried-not very hard-to pretend she was looking for breakfast instead of eyeballing Quinn.

Quinn chuckled when she realized what was happening. She cupped a hand around the back of Rachel's neck and ducked closer, inches apart.

"Can you handle a three hour drive, Rachel?" Quinn whispered.

Rachel tried to scoff. She choked and nodded.

"Are you sure? Because it's gonna be hot." Quinn smiled. "This jacket will come off, and I'll put my sunglasses on, and _sometimes_ pants are just too tight for any kind of underwear, you know?"

Quinn enjoyed seeing what kind of reactions she could elicit.

Rachel's eyes widened and Quinn kissed her while her jaw was dropped. Rachel moaned immediately and tipped forward, pressing Quinn against the counter, and Quinn laughed and pushed lightly on her shoulder to slide out of the trap.

She tried to ignore the abrupt rush of affection those wide brown eyes gave her.

"Six hours in a car today, Rachel Berry." Quinn turned Rachel around and pushed her gently towards a pile of clothes on the coffee table. "Let's get started."

…

"So, do you not drive anywhere? At all?" Rachel asked as they passed through West Palm Beach.

She'd quickly gotten the hang of Sam's car, a Jeep with a "Sea Turtles Dig the Dark" bumper sticker, and Quinn sat next to her, messing with the radio and eating a bag of grapes.

Quinn shook her head silently.

"But…groceries and errands, dentist appointments, church. _Dates_." Rachel glanced at Quinn, "You just ride with Sam and Mike and Santana? For everything?"

"Or walk." Quinn shrugged.

"That seems like it would hinder a relationship."

Quinn narrowed her eyes at the side of Rachel's head. "If their legs function they can make the walk."

Rachel nodded slowly. "But…say you get into a relationship with somebody who lives further away? Where walking isn't really feasible."

"How far?"

Three thousand miles, Florida to California. A full day of driving to get through Texas alone.

"Like…I don't know." Rachel tapped the steering wheel, hyperaware of Quinn's eyes on her. "Say she lives twenty minutes away. She'd be the only one able to make the drive, right?"

Quinn smiled slightly. "That's happened before."

"Yeah?"

Quinn hummed. "They don't really stick around long."

Rachel nodded sadly. "Idiots." She muttered, mostly to herself. She glanced over to find Quinn smiling at her. "Have you tried driving?" she wondered.

Quinn nodded.

"And…that didn't go so well?" Rachel guessed.

"Sure."

Rachel smiled wryly. It was like pulling teeth. "_Can_ you drive? Or do you just…not want to?"

"I don't." Quinn said shortly.

Rachel nodded silently. She noticed Quinn's leg bouncing and refrained from further questions. She waited a few minutes to start singing along to the radio, and she caught Quinn's smile out of the corner of her eye.

Quinn finished her grapes as they drove through Boca and then directed Rachel past downtown Miami to Key Biscayne. She chuckled when she noticed that Rachel was crossing the bridge as slowly-and with as much distance between the car and the edge-as possible.

The guy they were meeting ran a scuba and snorkeling charter boat, so Rachel parked near the designated dock and waited to follow Quinn's lead. In one hundred miles, the temperature had gone up ten degrees and the humidity was stifling. Quinn's jacket was abandoned on the backseat.

"Ready for your sea legs, Rachel Berry?" Quinn chirped, sliding her Aviators up her nose.

Rachel was too busy taking in all of her surroundings to answer. Quinn pictured her stepping right off the dock and plunging into the bay, and she smiled and made sure to keep a hand on the small of Rachel's back.

"Hi there!"

The man who strode down the dock towards them was _tall_. He was tanned, sun-reddened, wearing boardies and a t-shirt and smiling widely. The dock creaked with every step. He held out his hand and stopped in front of Quinn.

"I'm Finn Hudson. You must be Quinn."

Quinn smiled. "That's right."

"And Rachel Berry!" Finn declared, like he wasn't at all surprised to see her there. "I heard you were down around here. I don't have a TV so I can't say I'm a fan, but people say you're awesome."

"I-that's…" Rachel faltered. She wondered how sheltered from the press she really was in her little Jupiter bubble. Maybe Kurt was right and she was underestimating the extent of their coverage of her.

"Thank you." She managed to smile politely. "I'm just-I'm working with Quinn for a bit."

Quinn watched her curiously.

"That's cool." Finn nodded easily. He gestured behind him. "I thought we'd just hop on the boat and talk."

Quinn waved her hand. "Take us away."

The step from the dock to the boat was easy for Finn, and he turned around and held his hand out for Rachel.

"Ready for a swim, Ms. Berry?" Quinn asked brightly, poised behind Rachel to catch her if she tipped backwards.

Rachel spun around, eyebrow raised. "I will push you in that water, Quinn."

"Please do." Quinn leaned forward challengingly, holding eye contact. She whispered so that only Rachel could hear. "It's _so_ hot out here isn't it?"

Rachel pursed her lips. She ignored Quinn's smug smile and faced forward again, hopping lightly onto the boat with Finn's help. There were two long wooden benches under a sheltered lounge area, with metal rows behind them to hold the tanks during a day trip.

Finn settled on one of the benches with Rachel and Quinn opposite. He told them about his business, and then about his future plans and his interest in partnering with Quinn.

"Basically, my place here is overflowing." Finn explained. "I'm totally packed with business. It's the perfect place for scuba, you know?"

Quinn nodded. She was leaning forward and listening intently, brow furrowed. Rachel enjoyed watching her work-the way her eyes flashed or lit up, how she'd hum or grind her teeth.

"So I wanna expand." Finn continued. "I have buddies to take care of my stuff here- the boat, the shop, all that. I was looking at Jupiter, trading the dolphins for manatees."

Quinn hummed vaguely. "There are still dolphins there."

"Right, yeah, it's the beach." Finn laughed. He clapped his hands against his legs. "Extending an established surf shop is my plan. You already have a snorkeling section, which is obviously lacking, and I could add to that."

Quinn pursed her lips thoughtfully.

"Provide everything the marine enthusiast could hope for." Finn grinned. "We could even look into charters, under the name of Jupiter Surf. Owned by you, run by me, we could start with weekends and take loads of divers out to the reef."

"Run by you." Quinn repeated.

Rachel smothered a smile at her dubious tone.

"Like, in a literal way." Finn nodded. "I drive the boat, handle the people on the trips. I supply the store, but stay out of sight. For now."

Quinn nodded slowly. Her gaze drifted off to the water as she considered what Finn was saying.

"And I mean, you could totally expand if you wanted to get out of Jupiter." Finn suggested. "You know, open a surf shop on the Gulf, maybe Hawaii, southern California."

Rachel's breath hitched. Her mouth dropped open and her fingers tightened around the bench.

Finn interpreted her reaction as interest. He smiled at Rachel. "Right? Huntington, Hermosa, Venice, Malibu. She'd be right next door, huh? It'd be totally cool. Or you could stay in Jupiter. I don't think California has manatees."

Rachel caught Quinn's eye. She couldn't read anything there, but Quinn's gaze was sharp, serious. There was some surprise, some wariness, and then Quinn clenched her jaw and looked away.

They left Finn with promises to contact him soon, and then stood outside the Jeep for five minutes waiting for the AC to start circulating.

"I like his ideas." Rachel offered vaguely.

She tried to lean casually against the door of the Jeep, but she scalded her arms and leapt forward with a shriek.

"Easy there, Rachel." Quinn smiled slightly, reaching out to check Rachel's arms.

"What did you think of them? Of his ideas?"

Quinn bobbled her head around. "I think I'd trust him on a boat."

"So you're considering…everything he talked about?"

Quinn dropped Rachel's arms when she determined that they were okay. Her gaze flickered up to Rachel's, amused.

"Yeah. I am." She said softly.

Rachel bit her lip. She ducked her head and smiled down at her feet.

"Now get in the car and drive me home, Rachel Berry." Quinn smiled, eyes dancing behind her sunglasses. They were both red-faced and sweaty, ready to jump into the ocean. "These pants are _so_ uncomfortable with no underwear on."

Rachel hummed sagely, totally prepared this time. She settled a hand at the front of Quinn's jeans, letting her fingers pull down on the waist. Quinn gasped and tipped back against the Jeep.

"_I guess_ you'll just have to take them off in the car." Rachel whispered.

She smiled, pleased with herself, and climbed into the driver's seat for the three-hour ride.

….

"There are three ways to deal with oncoming waves when you're paddling out during a set."

Rachel bounced excitedly in the waist-deep water, hands clasped together.

"You can ignore them and let them pummel you and drag you all the way to shore." Quinn smiled. "Or you can duck dive or turtle roll."

"Ooh, that sounds like fun."

Quinn put a hand on her shortboard and nodded at Rachel. "I won't teach you the duck dive because it can't be done on a longboard. It's like trying to hold a ship underwater."

Rachel pouted slightly. "How do you do it?"

"You paddle at the wave-as fast as possible-and then push the nose underwater and get the board as deep as you can." Quinn explained, absently picking at the wax. "And then your body has to follow, with your knee holding the tail down."

Rachel nodded slowly. "That sounds…difficult."

Quinn chuckled.

"Teach me the turtle one."

"For a turtle roll-actually, you know what, lie on your board, Rachel." Quinn instructed. She let her own shortboard drift in the calm water and approached Rachel.

Rachel complied. They had both foregone rashguards for the day, so when Rachel lay on her board she found herself face to face with Quinn's stomach. Reddened from paddling around, toned, sun-tinted. Quinn didn't even realize Rachel was staring because her own eyes were fixed on the backs of Rachel's legs. She swallowed thickly and continued her explanation.

"For a turtle roll, you just flip over. You paddle towards the wave, grab the rails, and flip over."

Rachel frowned. "So I'll be underwater?"

"Yeah, Rachel. We're in the ocean." Quinn chuckled. She slicked the hair back off her face and scanned the horizon for a test swell. "Make sure you hold the board tightly and the wave will pass over you."

Rachel was skeptical.

"If you let go, someone's gonna get knocked unconscious by your foamie."

"This seems…counter-intuitive." Rachel mused. Dumping herself into the water right as the wave hit couldn't possibly be the best plan.

Quinn winked at her and dragged the board towards some breaking whitewater. "Trust me, Rachel Berry."

Rachel did. She really did, and she tried her best. After an hour, Quinn had come to the conclusion that Rachel had chosen option one-the "let the wave pummel you and drag you all the way to shore" route. She'd either let go of the board every time-Quinn made sure to stay several yards away-or she'd manage to hold on but surface too early.

"It's like a cartoon!" Rachel shrieked after being wrecked by the wave once again. She stalked towards Quinn, stingray shuffle forgotten, angrily dragging her giant board behind her. "I can't just capsize and cling to the bottom like an insect!"

"Why not?" Quinn watched, amused. She was draped over her shortboard and drifting easily with the swells.

"It's the stupidest way to get past the waves."

Quinn hummed. She dropped her chin onto her hands. "Do you have a better idea?"

Rachel slowly sunk as her irrational anger at the ocean faded. "Well, I could…Can people tow you out there?"

Quinn laughed. "Sure, if you're a monster wave surfer on the North Shore." She reached out with her foot and nudged Rachel's thigh. "I'm not calling the jet-skis to get you to a head-high break."

Rachel sighed and dropped her chin onto her hands.

Quinn smiled at her- red eyed from the seawater, burnt cheeks, skewed bikini top.

"I'm gonna tell you something, Rachel." Quinn informed. "But only if you promise not to ask me any questions."

Rachel eyed her suspiciously. She nodded silently against her board.

"Really? You'll be able to stop yourself from asking questions?"

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Tell me." She murmured.

Quinn nodded. She licked her lips and ran her fingertips over the wax bumps on her board. Rachel let hers drift closer so that the rails knocked into each other.

"My mom's visiting in two weeks." Quinn said stiffly. "I haven't seen or spoken to her in three years, but she's coming and she's staying until after the Pro-Am."

Rachel nodded intently.

"She knows about…my sexuality, and I'm not going to hide anything from her. Or change anything for her." Quinn caught Rachel's gaze. "She'll be sleeping in my guest room and probably hanging around the shop, and I just wanted to give you a heads up."

Rachel pressed her lips together to prevent herself from speaking. What's your mom like? Why haven't you spoken in three years? Will you still sleep at the shop with your mom at your house?

She kept them all inside.

"And it would be best if we all avoid bringing up the past. At all." Quinn added.

Rachel hummed and nodded. "That-"

"No questions."

"It's a comment." Rachel scoffed. She stood up in the water with her palms flat on the board. "Just…that all sounds fine. I'm sure it will be a nice experience."

Quinn smiled, watching Rachel try to control herself. "You look ready to burst."

"And you have friends around if you need anything. I'm sure they'll help out."

"Wow," Quinn drawled. "Your face is really red."

"We've been out here for hours." Rachel countered.

Quinn nodded. She stood and gently grabbed Rachel's arm before she could start heading for shore. Rachel's agitated expression softened immediately.

"Thanks." Quinn murmured.

Rachel nodded and smiled at her. "Of course, Quinn Fabray."


	10. Chapter 10

**Ain't That a Kick in the Head**

**Chapter 10**

Rachel stumbled into the hallway after Quinn, just managing to stay on her feet. She'd been closing the shop only five minutes ago, and now she was dizzy and disheveled and blindly following where she was led. She glanced at the posters on the wall like she'd never seen them before.

"Do you have any food in the fridge?" She wondered dazedly, tugging on Quinn's hand.

Quinn spun around, smiling widely. She pressed Rachel against the wall and tickled her fingers under the hem of Rachel's shirt. "Waffles, I think." Quinn tipped her head. "And vodka."

Rachel swallowed thickly. "Real food."

"There's tequila too."

Rachel shook her head.

Quinn pressed closer and traced her nose down the shell of Rachel's ear. Rachel seemed frozen, fixated on a spot over Quinn's shoulder. Quinn smiled.

"Are you hungry, Rachel?" she whispered.

Rachel nodded.

Quinn decided that she'd be hiding all of her food in the stockroom from now on. Or she'd fire the next employee who stole her cheese sticks out of the fridge. She lodged a thigh between Rachel's and tilted her head curiously.

"What would you like to eat?"

Rachel blew out her cheeks, absolutely unable to answer properly at the moment.

"Pasta? Shots?" Quinn tipped forward, delighted with herself. "Something else?"

A strangled moan rumbled up out of Rachel. She surged forward and latched onto Quinn's mouth, fingers digging into the back of Quinn's neck. Quinn rolled with it, unsurprised. She hummed and parted her lips to let Rachel's tongue graze every surface.

Rachel dropped a hand to squeeze Quinn's thigh. She pushed off the wall in the vague direction of the lounge door, forcing Quinn to back up.

"Take these off." Rachel whined, tugging at the waist of Quinn's sweatpants.

Quinn fell into the wall in her rush. "Really? Are you sure?"

No. Not at all.

Rachel nodded, despite herself. Quinn kissed her again, gripping Rachel's chin, and leaned against the lounge door as she dragged her sweatpants down her thighs. Rachel was on her before she could even straighten back up.

"Lets-can-open the door." Quinn managed with Rachel's hand squeezing the back of her bare thigh.

She fumbled with the buttons on Rachel's blouse while Rachel swatted at the doorknob. Quinn had four buttons undone-just so that Rachel's bra was visible-by the time the door swung open.

"Couch." Rachel muttered, kicking Quinn's tangled sweatpants away.

"Floor." Quinn laughed against her mouth.

They staggered through the door- Rachel's hands fused to Quinn's thighs, Quinn struggling blindly with those last few buttons. Rachel caught movement out of the corner of her eye and froze, chest flaring with a rush of panic while Quinn laved at her neck.

"Shit!" Sam exclaimed, scrabbling up from the couch.

Quinn shot backwards in surprise. She whirled around, sending the last of Rachel's buttons to the floor, and stared at Sam- red faced, chest heaving, in a t-shirt and boyshorts and tangled hair courtesy of Rachel.

"Where are your pants?!" Sam shouted, half kneeling on the coffee table.

Quinn spun on her heel. She actually couldn't recall what had happened to her sweatpants. "Fuck, fuck. Get lost, Sham!"

"Dude, put on some pants!"

Rachel appeared in front of Quinn a moment later, blushing furiously, holding her blouse closed with one hand, and offering up a ball of Quinn's dark green sweatpants.

"Shit, thank you." Quinn muttered, hurrying to pull them on.

Rachel watched sadly as those legs were covered up again.

"Dude, man, that's not…" Sam shook his head, halfway between horror and laughter. "You gotta check the room first or something, Q."

Quinn ground her teeth and pressed her hands against her warm face. "Shut the hell up."

"I mean, you don't have the _worst_ ass, but I don't need to see it every-"

"You don't seem surprised." Rachel interrupted before Quinn could cross the room and tackle Sam. She could feel Quinn seething and realized that it was probably mostly embarrassment.

"About you and Quinn?" Sam clarified. He politely averted his gaze from the gap in Rachel's blouse. "We're not total morons, despite what Quinn says."

"You are." Quinn mumbled.

Sam grinned. "You frustrated, Fabray?"

"But, you won't-you won't tell anybody, right?" Rachel asked, searching Sam's face. "And Santana and Mike won't tell anybody either?"

Sam looked at Rachel seriously, smile fading. "No. No way, Rach." He assured. He nodded at Quinn, eyes sparkling. "You turned our boss nice. We're not gonna mess that up."

Quinn scoffed. "I'm gonna mess _you_ up." She muttered.

Rachel rolled her eyes.

"She's just a beacon of sunshine since you've been here." Sam smiled. He winked at Rachel and walked towards the yellow door. "I'm heading home now, so you guys can…You just do what you gotta do."

He stopped in front of Quinn, who stared up at him with hard eyes.

Sam was unaffected by her expression, probably because her pants were twisted, her cheeks were pink, and she had red bite marks dotted up her neck and jaw. He nodded at her, amused.

"You got this, Quinn." He whispered, gesturing at Rachel.

Quinn's eyes flashed.

"Just put a blanket down or something if you do it on the couch. And I hid leftovers in the fridge if you guys get hungry."

Quinn bit her cheek and nodded.

"And-I don't know- have some clothes on by the time we come in tomorrow, alright?"

Quinn sank her teeth further into her cheek, ears aflame. Rachel watched, smiling softly.

"I'm happy for you, dude." Sam nudged Quinn's shoulder, grinned at Rachel, and left through the yellow door.

Quinn finally relaxed. Her shoulders fell and her jaw loosened, and Rachel stepped up next to her and wrapped an arm around her waist.

Quinn chuckled wryly. "Oh my God."

"That was unfortunate." Rachel smiled, rubbing absently at the freckles on Quinn's forearm.

"Are you still hungry? Maybe we could just have some food and watch a movie tonight." Quinn suggested quietly. She tugged at the ties on her sweatpants. "Just, knowing Sam knows what we're doing…"

Rachel smiled at Quinn's flushed face.

"I mean, we could continue if you want, but-"

"A movie is perfect, Quinn." Rachel assured. She leaned into Quinn's side to whisper in her ear. "And maybe your pants can come back off."

Quinn pressed her lips together. "_Rachel Berry_."

"I like your stripy underwear." Rachel said, enjoying herself. "It's cute."

Quinn's eyes dropped and fixed on the polka dot bra visible through the gap in Rachel's blouse. She tipped her head, content to just stare at the dark, supple flesh. She hadn't been able to appreciate it like this earlier, too aroused to think straight, focused only on the buttons and lithe little body pressed against her.

Rachel smiled at her fondly. "Excuse me."

"Mm."

"You should pick a movie."

Quinn sighed wistfully. She pried her eyes away and ran a hand through her hair, pleased that Rachel was making no move to button her shirt back up. Maybe that meant Rachel was comfortable with her. _Totally_ comfortable.

Quinn smiled to herself. She picked _Ocean's 11_ from the movie shelf- the original, of course- heated up the leftovers from the fridge, and then stood by the coffee table in front of Rachel. She pulled off her sweatpants, watching Rachel's eyes widen and then listening to Rachel laugh, and flung them onto the armchair.

"You're cute." Rachel said when Quinn settled in beside her.

Quinn rolled her eyes at herself. _Cute_.

She grabbed a carton of fries and propped her feet up on the coffee table. Rachel's hand moved to rest lightly on her thigh and Quinn smiled.

….

Rachel shoved her cell phone into her back pocket as she emerged from the stockroom. Kurt was a persistent little terror, and Rachel found herself regretting answering every single one of his calls. She vowed to skip the next few just to drive him up the wall a bit.

"All good?" Quinn asked when Rachel wandered back onto the shop floor.

Everybody was working- Sam and Mike organizing the board room, Santana stocking shelves, Rachel and Quinn re-hanging and replacing sun-bleached, illegible posters- all in preparation for the Pro-Am. Quinn unfurled a Dakine surf team banner and held it up for Rachel's approval.

Rachel nodded shortly. "It's fine."

Quinn eyed her. "Kurt again?"

"He's just…not a patient person." Rachel shrugged and picked up the roll of double sided tape. She ran her nail along the edge and cut off four little squares to use for the poster.

Quinn watched her. "What does he want from you?"

Rachel tilted her head and pressed her lips together. She tediously peeled the backing from each piece of tape and stuck the squares into the corners of the banner.

"He wants me to leave earlier." She finally said, avoiding Quinn's gaze. "Just-if I don't take _Anything Goes_- he has an audition for me for something else in a week and a half."

Quinn stared at the side of Rachel's head.

"I'm not sure how interested I am in that." Rachel shrugged casually.

"Well, yeah, you're Reno Sweeney." Quinn smiled. She took the poster from Rachel and climbed the stepladder to put it on the wall. "You have to do _Anything Goes_."

"True that!" Santana shouted from the far side of the room.

Rachel shook her head.

Quinn glanced around the walls for the next poster to replace. "What's stopping you? Is it Jesse St. James?"

Rachel bit her lip, unsure. It wasn't the man himself- more the idea of what she'd done with him and how it could possibly have affected her career. Quinn seemed to know this.

"You know you belong there, Rachel. I'll be able to tell people I'm friends with the best Reno Sweeney of all time."

Rachel smiled. "You'd brag about me?"

Quinn hesitated, then scoffed. She laid a poster of a breaking Mavericks wave on the table and shook her head.

"You just said you'd brag about me."

"What? What are you talking about, Rachel?" Quinn drawled, rubbing at the crinkles in the poster.

Rachel shook her head. They worked quietly for several minutes, listening to the banging coming from Mike and Sam in the boardroom. The guys' organizational method seemed to involve precariously stacking boards into ceiling-high towers while the racks were moved around.

"Maybe I'll just take the audition Kurt got for me." Rachel mused quietly, picking at the roll of tape. Quinn cut her eyes over. "Just for something different."

"Different doesn't mean _good_."

"I don't plan on taking the role." Rachel clarified. "But an audition has direction."

"You have direction here." Quinn argued, smiling. She pointed towards the back of the shop. "Go organize the wetsuits in the stockroom. When you've done that, rinse the sand from the shower and get me some boiled peanuts."

Rachel sighed helplessly. "If I leave in a week I'll have time to prepare for the audition."

Quinn's smile faltered.

"Then if I do well on that, I can either take that role or _Anything Goes_. It'll give me options."

"Just take _Anything Goes_." Quinn said sharply, like it was obvious. She abandoned the poster and leaned against the table, gaze on Rachel. "You don't need options. You can't-"

Quinn swallowed. Her eyes dropped to Rachel's flip-flops. "You said you'd have two months here."

"I thought I would." Rachel said quietly.

Quinn exhaled shortly from her nose, puffing like a bull. She couldn't wrap her mind around it. She was being roped back into her tiny little circle after running free for weeks. Rachel watched her fingers turn white, clutching the edge of the table.

"So…that's it? You're just-you're leaving in a week?" Quinn said stiltedly.

It was heartbreaking- made worse by the fact that they'd both seen it coming from day one. Quinn could surf like a pro and fix a nasty jellyfish sting, but the expression on her normally stoic face right now made Rachel want to cry.

"I think…maybe, yeah." Rachel struggled to string a sentence together.

The weight was finally hitting her. Leaving Jupiter had been just an intangible idea before, a ridiculous notion that Kurt had been harping on about.

Quinn nodded slowly. She pushed off the table and ran a hand through her hair, eyes unfocused.

"I'll-I mean, we'll keep in touch." Rachel offered lamely, scrabbling for ground. Quinn looked at her oddly. "I'll call and visit. This place-this shop- it's like another home now."

"Okay, Rachel." Quinn said quietly. "Whatever you want."

Rachel glanced across the room to find Santana watching them with narrowed eyes.

She stepped closer to Quinn and lowered her voice, trying to get rid of the tremble. "I mean it. We're friends now."

"Okay." Quinn repeated.

"I'm not just going to disappear in a week without-"

"Really?" Quinn interrupted, eyes alight. She tapped her fingers over her thigh. "You _got here_ by disappearing, Rachel. Do you make a habit of dropping off the map with no warning?"

Rachel sighed. "Quinn."

"Just-ignoring our _friendship_," Quinn mockingly held up air quotes. "You committed to two months of work. Are you really that flaky? Unprofessional? You won't even stick around for the contest?"

There was a lump growing in Rachel's throat. All she could do was shake her head.

"Who's gonna run my goddamn booth, Rachel?" Quinn raised her voice, digging her nails into her palms. Her eyes were a bright, shining hazel, boring into Rachel's, and her volume caught Santana's attention. Sam and Mike peered through the boardroom doorway as Santana stalked across the shop.

"I thought you'd understand." Rachel said weakly.

Quinn stared at her, jaw clenched. Rachel wrapped her arms around herself just so they weren't dangling uselessly at her sides.

"I _understand_ that you're better than whatever shit audition Kurt has you running home early for." Quinn said lowly, ducking to catch Rachel's gaze.

"Plans change." Rachel muttered.

"If you're a coward." Quinn stepped forward. "Where's your head, Rachel?" she challenged.

"I warned you." Rachel said quietly, apologetically, holding Quinn's gaze. Quinn's eyes flickered with something- confusion, hurt, sadness. She glanced at Santana, who was watching her carefully.

"I told you I was a mess. I told you what you were getting into. And I'm not the only one who's running away from things."

Quinn swallowed. Her chest was too tight and she wheezed a little on her inhale.

"Kissing in the dark doesn't make us anything special, Quinn." Rachel stated quietly.

This time there was no mistaking the hurt. It was like Quinn had been expecting it, her sunny hair and smiling eyes just waiting to be left behind again. Her lips turned down and she blinked a bit too rapidly, and it was a punch to Rachel's gut.

But then the hurt was gone and Quinn was inches from Rachel, staring down at her. Aloof and intimidating, like the Quinn from day one, minus the curious eyes and amused smile.

Her aura of attractive casualness and nonchalant good manners remained.

Quinn smiled slightly. "We both know that's not true." She whispered so that only Rachel could hear. Rachel's eyes flickered to the floor because Quinn was always absolutely right.

Quinn shrugged. Only Rachel could see the slight tremble in her jaw. "Maybe now I can forget your name, Rachel Berry."

Tears sprung to Rachel's eyes at the thought. Quinn turned and strode through the boardroom, focused on the floor despite Sam and Mike's concerned glances. Santana hovered near Rachel- fuming mad but conflicted about confronting somebody so obviously near a breakdown.

Rachel left the posters and tape on the table and walked across the room, right out the front door. She held it together on the short walk to her hotel, all the way up the elevator. And then she got inside her room after fumbling with the key card and crumbled right into her armchair.

She pressed a hand over her mouth to contain her keening sobs, hugged a pillow to her chest, and let herself go.

…

Quinn paced around the lounge, looking for her board wax and wheezing with every breath.

Santana and Mike watched from the doorway, concerned and helpless. Quinn rubbed at her forehead and rounded on them.

"What did you do with it?" she bit out. "I can't-I can't remember where I put it."

"Q, honey, you need to sit down." Santana murmured.

Quinn's eyes flashed. "Sam threw it away, didn't he? _God_, he's-"

"I'll grab you a new one, Quinn, okay?" Mike placated.

Quinn nodded and coughed, chest heaving.

"Quinn, breathe." Santana said when Mike disappeared back into the shop. "Deeply, come on. In and out."

Quinn tried to comply. Her eyes watered and her chest only seemed to get tighter. Santana pushed off the doorjamb and crossed the room. Quinn was looking for something to throw when Santana appeared before. She rested a supportive hand on Quinn's back, and Quinn choked on a sob at the contact.

"Oh God, honey." Santana murmured, wrapping her arms protectively around Quinn.

Quinn silenced herself almost immediately. She trembled violently with every cry that was contained, and Santana shook her head.

"You can cry, Quinn." Santana said softly. "You're okay."

"She wants-she wanted me to teach her a trick." Quinn managed, voice strained and thick. Santana frowned. "She was so excited about it-so-and I told her no. I haven't-I still haven't taught her one yet. She can't just-she can't just _leave_."

"Maybe she won't." Santana mused softly.

"She's-she's such an idiot sometimes." Quinn said angrily, nose pressed against Santana's shoulder.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Both of you."

"I can't-I can't find my wax."

"You still have time, you know." Santana said quietly, pulling back to see Quinn's face. She pushed salty blonde hair out of Quinn's eyes. "She didn't say she was definitely leaving in a week. I know you can at least get her to stay for the contest."

Quinn's gaze was sharp, chin held high like she hadn't cried at all. Santana absently tucked more hair behind her ear.

"She's not an idiot. I shouldn't-I shouldn't have...called..." Quinn muttered thickly, wiping at her eyes.

Santana snorted. Honestly, she felt like drowning Rachel at the moment, but that probably wasn't what Quinn needed.

"She's a dumbass." She said instead.

Quinn shook her head. "She warned me."

"Everybody warns you. You never listen, you moron."

Quinn swallowed. She looked at Santana determinedly. "But I know I'm-I'm right, San. The things she says and does, I know it's not-I know it's not one-sided. It's not just me this time."

Santana smiled softly. "That's good, Q."

"I want to teach her a trick. I want to see her face when she-when she gets it."

"Are you gonna go see her?" Santana spotted Quinn's wax on the coffee table, in plain view. "Because I'm not your therapist and my boss is an ass, so I need to get back to work."

Quinn nodded slightly. "Don't call me an ass." She wiped at her face again, and Santana rolled her eyes and hugged her tightly before stepping towards the door.

"You can breathe, right?" Santana checked, only half joking.

Quinn nodded.

"Alright, wheezy." Santana spun on her heel. "Wax is on the coffee table."

Quinn glanced at the wax, and then at her shortboard. Her gaze lingered on the small black "B" on the nose, and she made a decision. She'd already blasted her circle to bits, so she was going all in.

…

Rachel was still curled in the armchair, sniffling quietly into her t-shirt, when there was a knock at the door. She made no move to respond to it- one of her legs was numb and her face probably looked awful-but the knocking didn't stop.

Rachel sighed. She slid out of the chair and stretched out her legs, and then limped over to the mirror. Her face was red and tear-stained, imprinted from where her cheek had been resting on the chair. She rubbed at her bloodshot eyes and tied her hair back, and then cleared her throat and made sure that she could speak without her voice cracking.

She could, though it was hoarse. She walked through the door and peered through the peephole.

Quinn stood on the other side, in her white t-shirt and red shorts, surfboard tucked on her arm. Rachel couldn't see her feet, but she could bet there were no shoes.

Quinn knocked again. She didn't seem impatient- just calm and collected, a little sad, with her lips turned down, eyes soft and red. Rachel smiled slightly at the sight and opened the door.

Quinn looked at her for a moment.

Rachel rubbed at her face self-consciously and realized she was still wearing the t-shirt she'd been crying into. She glanced discreetly down to see if it was obvious.

"You look fine." Quinn murmured.

Rachel scoffed lightly.

Quinn stood her board on its tail and pointed at the "B" on its nose. She took a shaky breath and ducked to catch Rachel's gaze.

"You asked what this stands for." Quinn reminded her.

Rachel's eyes flicked between the board and Quinn's face. "You said bacon."

Quinn's lips quirked. Her shoulders relaxed and she gestured behind Rachel. "Can I-can I come in?"

Rachel stepped back to let her through. Quinn was walking past the bed by the time Rachel realized her room was a wreck, and she tossed several articles of clothing into a haphazard laundry pile.

Quinn caught the action and smiled slightly. "And you call me a slob."

Rachel huffed and dropped onto the bed. "You are a slob."

Quinn set the board on its tail again. She sat next to Rachel and gathered herself for a moment. Rachel absently tapped Quinn's thigh with her fingers.

"What does it stand for?" Rachel finally ventured.

"Bacon."

"Look, if you're not-"

"No, seriously." Quinn held onto Rachel's knee to keep her seated. Rachel watched her warily. "It's…This is a long story, okay. When I was in the wreck, I had a girlfriend, and she was in the passenger seat."

Rachel instinctively reached for Quinn's hand.

"Her name was Blake. We went to Yale together."

Rachel scooted closer, until she could hold onto Quinn's whole arm. "Was she alright?" she asked gently.

Quinn nodded.

Rachel watched her closely. "What happened?"

"I was in the hospital. I didn't really…_know_ what was going on, but they wouldn't let Blake see me and I didn't know why." Quinn smiled wryly. "So I told my parents she was my girlfriend. My girlfriend should be allowed to see me, right? I came out to them while I was drugged and paralyzed from the waist down."

Rachel blinked at her. "Oh, Quinn." she breathed.

Quinn's eyes swam so Rachel hugged her arm closer.

"My dad had me confirm it when I was…_lucid_." Quinn continued. She rolled her eyes at herself. It was the only thing that ever made her feel small and pathetic.

It had been odd to wake up in that strange bed, confused and nauseous and in pain, to find her father standing there, staring angrily down at her. He asked what game she was playing, if she was gay, if she was brain-damaged. Quinn had nodded because there was no way they would do anything to her when she couldn't feel her legs.

"My dad told me that the accident was my fault." Quinn's breath hitched. She cleared her throat and wiped at her eyes, and Rachel rubbed a soothing hand up her forearm. "It was because I'd been riding around with my girlfriend."

Anger flared up inside Rachel.

"He said I might've deserved it."

"No, oh honey, no." Rachel mumbled, tipping into Quinn's side.

Quinn let her cling. "I know I didn't _actually_ deserve it." She said roughly. "My dad's an asshole. It doesn't bother me anymore."

Rachel knew better than to believe that. "What about your mom?"

Quinn shrugged. "We'll see."

Rachel pressed her nose against Quinn's shoulder. "That's why you don't drive." She said quietly, realization dawning.

Quinn tipped her head.

"Because he said it was your fault."

"He wouldn't let me move back home, so I lived with Sam." Quinn continued. She laughed shortly and Rachel kissed her shoulder. "I was really, _really_ difficult- just absolutely awful- and Blake broke up with me."

Rachel blinked back tears. "That's not fair. You had a right to be."

"I don't blame her."

"So then you…What changed?" Rachel asked hesitantly, fearing the answer. "You jumped in the pool, right? Were you…Was that…"

Quinn turned her head and caught Rachel's eyes. She shook her head silently and Rachel nodded, relieved.

"I wasn't trying to _do_ anything." Quinn said softly. "Sam took me to church the next week. And he took me to the beach and got me a surfboard. I told Santana I wanted to leave, and she and Mike transferred their credits to finish college here."

Rachel nodded, feeling horrendously guilty that she'd accused Quinn of running away.

"I think they thought I was…sort of crazy." Quinn said wryly, rubbing at her eyes again. "That I'd do something stupid."

"You're not crazy." Rachel nuzzled into Quinn's shoulder, argument forgotten.

Quinn looked at her, amused. Touchy-feely Rachel was the warmest, most comforting thing she could imagine.

"So the 'B' is for Blake?" Rachel wondered obliviously. "Did you love her?"

"It was for Blake, just to remind me of everything that happened. I don't really- I wasn't in love with her."

A slow smile spread over Rachel's face. She finally caught on. "But it stands for bacon now?"

"That's right." Quinn smiled. "I've never lied to you, Rachel Berry. It stands for many things."

"Bacon. Burger." Rachel chuckled against Quinn's shoulder. Quinn nodded with each word Rachel came up with. "Boiled peanuts, Bible, beach."

Quinn kissed Rachel's head when she ran out. "Berry." She said quietly.

Rachel smiled widely, not really able to control it.

"Do you have questions?" Quinn eyed her knowingly.

Rachel thought for a moment. She actually didn't. Quinn finally seemed to have let everything out and Rachel could not come up with a single question. It was disconcerting for both of them. Rachel sighed and shook her head.

"Just-I want to say sorry. For earlier." She stated, sitting up straight. "For the-for my kissing in the dark comment. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean to make you cry."

Quinn scoffed. "You didn't make me cry."

Rachel smiled gently. She reached a hand up and wordlessly wiped at the tear tracks under Quinn's eyes. Quinn's cheeks flushed red.

"I think I'll stay here until after the contest." Rachel said slowly.

"You're not unprofessional, Rachel, or flaky." Quinn apologized. "I shouldn't have said that. If that's why-"

"No." Rachel shook her head. "It has nothing to do with…You know I haven't seen Tina in three days?"

Quinn's brow furrowed, confused. A little concerned.

Rachel chuckled. "She has been absolutely swept away by Florida life. She was in the Keys a few days ago. I think she's at Disney now. Her hotel room is totally abandoned and her priorities are in perfect order."

Quinn's lips quirked. "They are."

"She's not worrying about jetting back to California for an audition way below her talent level."

"_So_ _far_ below." Quinn nodded sagely.

Rachel looked at her for a minute, just soaking in her expression- tired and amused and relieved. Quinn tapped her feet against her surfboard. She could feel Rachel staring at the side of her head and it was oddly comforting.

"I want to teach you a trick." She announced. She smiled when Rachel's jaw dropped.

"We'll start today, right now, if you can handle it."

Rachel clasped her hands together. She forgot that her face was a smudgy wreck and her hair needed washing and she was still wearing that snot-stained t-shirt.

"I can handle it!" she declared, bouncing up off the bed.

Quinn followed. She held onto Rachel's arm to hold her still and kissed her softly, sweetly. She flushed when she pulled back, eyes warm and focused on Rachel's.

"Are you sure you can handle it?"

Rachel smiled, lips pressed together. "I'm sure."

"Absolutely positive?"

"Mhm." Rachel nodded. She rocked lightly on her feet, watching Quinn's eyes.

"I don't want you to drown."

"I won't. I can handle it."

Quinn smiled slowly. She kissed Rachel again and picked up her board, wondering where she'd put her wax. "I know you can, Rachel."


	11. Chapter 11

**Ain't that a Kick in the Head**

**Chapter 11**

"What are we waiting for?" Rachel whined. She stared impatiently at the breaking waves and tapped her hands along her surfboard. "Let's just go."

Quinn shook her head. "We have to wait for a lull to paddle out."

"How long will that be?"

"I don't control the ocean, Rachel." Quinn rolled her eyes. She scanned the horizon again and then glanced down at Rachel, who stood in the knee-deep water fidgeting like a four-year-old. Quinn knew she'd be far less eager to learn a trick once she was pummeled by one of the head-high waves.

She also figured Rachel would do it over and over again until she got it right. Quinn just hoped to keep her from drowning.

"Follow me when we paddle out, okay?" Quinn nudged Rachel's arm, eyeing her seriously. "No lolly-gagging. If you get tired or scared, say so, and we'll try to make it back in before the set hits."

Rachel scoffed. "I won't get scared."

Quinn hummed indulgently.

Rachel narrowed her eyes. She could see Quinn's lips curved into an amused smile, eyes bright and sharp and focused on the waves. Her cheeks were red and her hair was tangled, and Rachel forgot what she was going to say.

"Ready, Rachel Berry?" Quinn wondered, bending over to tighten the leash around her ankle.

Rachel's eyes landed on her ass, naturally. She thought about buying Quinn a new pair of red shorts.

"Ready?" Rachel echoed absently.

Quinn took a few steps forward, shortboard tucked snugly under her arm. She lifted a knowing eyebrow at Rachel and gestured towards the waves. "It's flat. Time to paddle. Pick it up, lady."

Rachel gasped excitedly. "It's time!" she yanked on her leash and dragged her longboard after Quinn to the waist-high water. Quinn moved so lightly and quickly, skimming along the surface of the water as she paddled, flashing her toned arms with every stroke.

Rachel struggled to keep up, barely convincing herself not to just grab onto Quinn's ankle and let Quinn tow her out past the break. She repeated everything Quinn had ever taught her- stay balanced, go steady, kick your feet, don't fall off. Her arms burned, but she managed to keep up.

"There are some swells coming." Quinn called, glancing behind her to make sure Rachel was still there. She was, and her pretty little face was breathless and alert, clearly very determined.

Quinn nodded to herself, pleased. "They won't break on you, even if looks like they're going to." She said loudly. "I promise."

Rachel's eyes widened once she realized what Quinn was talking about. The swells were much larger out here than they appeared from the whitewater. They were overwhelming, huge and looming and ready to crash down on her if she didn't move fast enough.

"Quinn." Rachel called anxiously, barely making it over one of the swells before it broke.

"Almost there, Rachel."

"How big are these?" Rachel asked loudly as she crested another one, jolting forward on the other side. She cleared her throat because her voice was unnaturally shrill.

Quinn glanced behind her again. She wondered if Rachel could tell how proud she was of her. "About four feet."

Rachel's jaw dropped, and she swallowed a mouthful of saltwater and coughed immediately. "Four-that-only four feet? That's it?" she sputtered.

Quinn finally stopped paddling. She sat back on her board and glanced around to take note of her location- she was lined up perfectly with the end of Jupiter Pier- and she smiled when Rachel's board bumped into hers.

Rachel heaved a sigh of relief and dropped her burning arms into the water, her forehead onto the cool foam of her board.

"They're four feet tall." Quinn assured, holding the nose of Rachel's board to keep her from drifting. "They just seem bigger when you're lying at the bottom."

"That was exhausting." Rachel mumbled.

Quinn smiled fondly. "That wasn't even the fun part."

Rachel sat up and slicked back her hair. She glanced around and was surprised to find that they really weren't that far out. It'd felt like she'd been paddling for a mile, crossed into another land. Her fingers were going numb.

"Today we're gonna drop in." Quinn informed, watching Rachel. "That's your trick. You're going to catch the wave and then drop to the left at the bottom. That's called backside."

Rachel looked skeptical. "That doesn't sound as cool as what you do."

"We can't all be as cool as I am." Quinn drawled.

"Can I do one of those jumps like you do?" Rachel persisted. "Where you fly up off the top and spin around?"

Quinn managed to turn her snort into a cough. She thumped her chest and met Rachel's wide, earnest eyes. "Soon, yeah. Let's not-let's not get ahead of ourselves."

Rachel nodded, pleased with that answer.

"Are you ready to catch one?" Quinn asked.

Rachel really was not looking forward to riding a wave all the way in and then having to paddle all the way back out again. Maybe she could get Quinn to tow her next time. She nodded, and Quinn grabbed the nose of her longboard and pointed it towards the shore.

"Paddle, pop up, cut left." Quinn instructed, giving the tail of Rachel's board a shove as the swell approached. Quinn smiled when Rachel began paddling frantically. She cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, "You got this, Rachel Berry!"

Rachel clung to the board, having lost control of herself as soon as she caught the wave. She hadn't "popped up," so dropping in had been like belly flopping onto a hard surface, and now she was moving so fast that she couldn't see straight. Honestly, it was exhilarating, and it was probably way better than whatever Quinn had wanted her to do.

Rachel shrieked freely, mouth wide open. Her knuckles turned white around the rails of the board and she swallowed several mouthfuls of water as she skimmed along.

How Quinn was able to do this while standing up was a mystery.

"Well. That's one way." Quinn laughed to herself, watching Rachel scream and careen wildly towards the shore.

Rachel finally grounded herself in the sand, but she seemed far too excited or overwhelmed to stand up, so she just rolled off her board and into the shallow water. Quinn was whooping her congratulations- because at least Rachel hadn't fallen off- when a figure on the beach caught her eye.

She silenced herself immediately, eyes locked onto her mother.

Judy Fabray stood about ten yards behind Rachel, in capri pants and a t-shirt, arms folded across her chest. She was too far away for Quinn to discern her expression. Rachel was still rolling around in the shallow water like an excited beached whale, so she obviously hadn't noticed the other woman.

Quinn set her jaw and paddled for the next wave. She popped up and stayed low, carving down the face and very much aware of her mother's eyes on her. She contemplated just riding straight in, but Rachel was watching as well- grinning and waiting expectantly for a trick- so Quinn smiled wryly and shifted into a bottom turn.

She shot back up the face of the wave, right into an impromptu aerial. She didn't even bother holding onto her board. If it tripped away midair, it would just be something for Rachel to laugh about. Quinn smiled widely as she landed back on the wave, right at the lip. Her knee gave out a moment later and she bailed into the whitewater with a laugh.

Rachel was whooping and applauding from the shore when Quinn emerged. She rushed forward as soon as Quinn hit the shallow water and bounced excitedly around her, pawing at Quinn's abdomen and arms in her congratulations.

"I want to learn that! You should teach me that!" she proclaimed. She ran a hand down Quinn's thigh. "Did you hurt yourself? Is your knee okay?"

"Rachel, Rachel, Rachel." Quinn nearly tipped forward over the other woman, now crouched in the shallow water. "Get up." She mumbled breathlessly, trying not to smile.

Rachel popped right up. She kept a steadying hand on Quinn's side. "Is your leg alright?"

"My mother is here." Quinn said bluntly, glancing over Rachel's shoulder.

Rachel's eyes widened. She spun around to follow Quinn's stare and _finally_ noticed Judy Fabray. The woman was several yards away, out of the tide where Rachel had been rolling around like a moron only minutes before. Her white-blonde hair curled around her shoulders, and she watched Rachel and Quinn with familiar sharp, hazel eyes.

She looked curious, Rachel noted. Very composed, slightly hesitant.

Quinn strode up to her, hyperaware of the rashguard riding up her own side and the scars she knew would be visible on her legs. She kept her expression blank, even when she heard Rachel trip in her haste to follow.

Judy's eyes landed on Quinn's face and never strayed.

Quinn stood stiffly, one arm crossed over her chest to rest on her surfboard. She was valiantly searching for the appropriate way to say "hello" when her mom smiled slightly.

"You're very good at that." Judy said, nodding at Quinn's board. "I didn't know surfboarders could…go up into the air like that."

Quinn almost laughed. She let her shoulders relax slightly and shrugged. "It's…Yeah. Lots of practice."

"Practice and natural talent." Judy said quietly.

Quinn stared at her. She jumped when she felt Rachel pulling down her rashguard at the back where it had ridden up. Rachel squeezed her upper arm and Judy followed the action.

"Rachel Berry." Judy said, now searching Rachel's face.

It wasn't the kind of look that fans gave her. Rachel usually recognized their excitement and disbelief, and was used to eliciting a reaction with only a smile. Judy's expression was searching in a different way. Gentle and appraising.

Rachel wished her hair wasn't tangled in dark, curly knots, wished her eyes weren't bloodshot from the saltwater. Wished she hadn't been rolling around like an idiot earlier.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Ms. Fabray." Rachel said sweetly, shaking Judy's hand.

Judy chuckled softly, gaze flickering between Rachel and Quinn. "I…certainly was not expecting to see you here."

"Surfing is my true calling." Rachel joked, unsure about how much Quinn wanted her to say. Judy smiled again. Her eyes kept dragging back to Quinn, who stood white-knuckling her surfboard and studying the lines around her mom's lips.

Rachel nudged Quinn's side. "I'm meeting Sam to prepare our Pro-Am table. You should take your mom to lunch."

"That sounds lovely." Judy said warmly.

Quinn shifted uncomfortably. She glanced down at Rachel. "Where?"

"Just go to Brittany's."

"Really?"

Rachel tipped her head. "Do you-should I cancel with Sam?" she asked quietly, even though Judy was _right there_ and she may as well speak at a normal volume.

Quinn shook her head.

"Then yes, really." Rachel squeezed Quinn's wrist and turned to smile at Judy. "She loves Brittany's sweet potato fries. And the cheeseburgers and boiled peanuts. Really, anything that's-"

"_Alright_." Quinn said shortly, eyes flashing.

Rachel closed her mouth.

"You can get your board back by yourself?" Quinn checked stiffly.

Rachel nodded. She may have to drag it the whole way, but it would get back to the shop.

"Without dragging it on the concrete?" Quinn pressed, eyebrow lifted.

Rachel faltered. "I'll call Sam."

Quinn nodded. She lifted her board higher and bounced on her feet, holding eye contact with Rachel. They'd never been able to say goodbye like normal people. It wasn't something they did well.

"Tell Sham I'll bring him leftovers." Quinn muttered, stepping forward to guide her mom to the beach access path.

Rachel laughed wryly. "Sure, if there's any left."

Quinn shot her a look and a wink as she walked away, and then reached out to help her mom through the deepest sand.

…..

Quinn watched Judy pick delicately at her chicken strips. She was using her hands, which was amusing, and Quinn nodded to herself and dumped honey mustard all over her own fries.

"I visited your shop this morning."

Quinn looked back up. She found that holding her mother's gaze was easy, less filled with tension and resentment than it had been years ago. Judy's eyes were soft now.

"It's charming, Quinn." She continued, smiling. "I can definitely see your influence on it."

Quinn ducked her head towards her fries. Her lips quirked proudly. "We like it."

"Mike told me that you and Rachel would be at the beach." Judy chewed with one hand over her mouth and the other constantly wiping her fingers on a napkin. "He pointed me in your direction."

"Towards the water." Quinn nodded easily. "Usually where I'll be."

Judy watched intently, soaking everything up. Every movement Quinn made for a French fry, every reach for a napkin and head tilt and noise. Quinn wiped self-consciously at her face and grimaced when her hands came away with honey mustard.

"So how did you meet Rachel?" Judy asked gently.

Quinn cut her eyes up and finished chewing slowly. She saw no judgement in her mom's expression.

"She was stung by a man 'o war. I administered first aid." Quinn said carefully. She smiled slightly at the memory. _Inconsiderate bitch_.

"Is that painful?" Her mom wondered.

Quinn shrugged. "Yeah. But Rachel handled it."

"She seems…_resilient_." Judy remarked. Quinn marveled at the sparkle in her mom's eyes. "And scrappy. She's very sweet, Quinn."

Quinn stared. She wanted to interrupt because it sounded like her mom was definitely making some assumptions, implying something with her words, but whatever picture Judy was painting felt like the right one in Quinn's mind. She honestly couldn't think of any way to define her relationship with Rachel.

So she'd let her mom's train of thought keep chugging right along.

"She is." Quinn agreed quietly, cheeks warming.

Judy smiled and stirred the ice around her glass, waiting for Quinn to collect herself. Quinn shook her head and propped her bare, sandy feet up on the booth next to her mother. She eyed Judy challengingly, but her mom lifted an amused eyebrow and said nothing.

"I feel like I should tell you something, Quinn." Judy announced when Quinn was halfway through her dessert.

Quinn hummed warily around a mouthful of key lime pie.

Her mom shifted forward, holding Quinn's gaze. "Your father-Russell-"

Quinn choked on her food. She recoiled back into the cushion of the booth, knocking her shins into the table because she'd forgotten her legs were stretched out next to her mom. Judy set a calm hand on Quinn's sandy feet and squeezed.

"He moved to Kansas City two years ago, Quinn." She said earnestly. "I have his address and I have his phone number, and that is the last I will speak of him."

Quinn exhaled sharply out of her nose.

"That's it." Judy assured, tilting forward to make sure Quinn was still watching her. "I just felt like you should know."

"I don't." Quinn said ridiculously. She shook her head when Judy frowned. "I don't need to know, I shouldn't know, and I don't want to hear it."

"Okay." Her mom nodded understandingly.

"I remember things. I remember it." Quinn plowed on, softening her shoulders slightly because her mom's expression was thoughtful and gentle, a little sad.

She thought of the "B" on her board. "B" for Berry. And beach and bacon and boiled peanuts.

"I remember it. But it's in the past and I'm happy now, and…" Quinn shrugged. She took a bite of pie just to have somewhere to look other than her mom's intense gaze. "Sawring fwesh."

Judy blinked. "What was that, honey?"

Quinn swallowed. "Starting fresh." She repeated clearly. She knew her mom could feel the meaning behind her words.

Judy nodded, smiling. Quinn went back to her pie- she realized that she'd dipped her salty hair into the frosting- and Judy fondly brushed the sand off of Quinn's feet.

….

"Did she look old?" Santana asked bluntly. "Wrinkled? Crippled?"

Rachel frowned and shook her head.

"How was her attitude? Was she all high and mighty, sarcastic bitch, or did she go for the silently judging you routine?" Santana pushed off the shaping room wall, eyes narrowed. "What did she say about Quinn's hair?"

"Tangled hot mess, man." Sam remarked, smiling at Rachel like he was getting away with something. He glanced at Santana. "You'll see her yourself soon enough."

Everybody was gathered in the shaping room watching him nail together some kind of vintage sign for the Pro-Am beach booth Rachel would be running. Santana- plus Brittany because she'd brought food and never left- Mike, Tina, and Rachel leaned lazily against the walls or the table, even though they'd been explicitly told by Quinn not to be lazy idiots today.

Rachel was pretending to modify the Pro-Am schedule. Really, she was thinking about Quinn's mom and how little she knew.

"She seemed alright. Polite." Rachel offered cautiously. Mike nodded, smiling at her. "And she's very pretty."

"You've heard of demon possession, right?" Santana wondered, eyeing Rachel seriously.

Brittany gasped. "_Santana_."

"When was the last time you actually saw Quinn's mom?" Tina wondered loudly, chopping the demon conversation off at the knees. Rachel squeezed her arm.

"Three years." Mike supplied. "Since before we left Ohio."

Sam paused his hammering. He pointed a dusty finger at Santana. "And three years is tons of time for someone to change. Look at Q."

Santana snorted. "Seriously?"

Sam lifted an eyebrow.

"Q degenerated into a vagabond, Evans."

"Hey, now." Mike warned, shaking his head.

Santana looked at him, and then back at Sam, amused. "Guys, I don't think that girl has washed her hair yet this week."

Rachel opened her mouth to protest. Quinn's hair had smelled lovely and clean- like lavender- that morning.

"She sleeps on a fucking sandy couch and barely wears shoes."

"What's your point?" Rachel asked sharply.

Santana held up her palms and leaned easily back against the wall. Brittany side-eyed her. "Just, not all change is for the better, you know."

"Quinn's is." Sam nodded confidently. He smiled reassuringly at Rachel, who was gradually growing more anxious and clinging to Tina's arm. "She loves that couch just the way it is. Shoes only hold her back and her hair just works, bro."

Santana rolled her eyes, smiling slightly. "She's gonna fire you all."

"Please." Mike scoffed. "You'd be the first one to go."

"Are you not worried about her?" Rachel asked the room as a whole, uncertain. "About…how this visit is going to go?"

Sam squinted thoughtfully. He absently swung the claw of the hammer into his thigh and gasped in pain.

"We'll just wait and see." Mike reasoned over Santana's laughter. He nodded in her direction. "She's got a bat if things go downhill. But Quinn let Sam read her mom's emails and he really thinks she's changed for the better."

"Email." Tina hummed dubiously.

"She's-I just don't want her to…" Rachel shook her head. Tina and Mike watched her intently. "She was so detached when I first met her. And-I mean- she doesn't like crying, or talking, or answering a damn question." Rachel chuckled wryly. "Like a sea turtle. I don't want her to just…_hide_."

"Nah, bro." Sam waved the hammer in Rachel's direction. "Sea turtles can't retract into their shells."

"And Q's more of a puffer fish." Santana mused. Her eyes widened with delight. "Like, spiny and poisonous if you poke her, but still totally unable to look intimidating in any way." Santana tipped into Brittany's side, laughing loudly at herself. "Puffy, angry face."

"What the hell are you all doing crammed in here?" Quinn asked from the doorway, cutting her gaze between everybody who wasn't Sam.

Santana collected herself immediately.

"Working," Rachel responded, right as Brittany said "Eating," and Mike said "Taking a break."

Quinn's jaw clenched. Santana let out some kind of garbled snort at her expression.

"The competition is this weekend." Quinn bit out. She wasn't surprised at all to find that nobody was doing what she'd asked. "How about we go do our jobs?"

Mike grinned. "Quinn, you've got honey mustard in your hair."

"Where's Judy?" Rachel wondered quietly.

Quinn's gaze finally landed on her. It softened immediately. Rachel had the ridiculous image of a puffer fish deflating. Santana couldn't seem to stop laughing to herself.

"She went home to sleep." Quinn informed. Her eyes flickered to the floor. "I-we decided that I'd sleep at home for a few days. Just to- I mean- what's the point in her being here if she doesn't even see me, right?"

Rachel smiled at her.

"So, right now, let's-dude, seriously-" Quinn glanced around the room, frowning and picking at the honey mustard in her hair. "You guys are always crammed into tiny rooms. Get out of here. Finn's coming this weekend and we need the new scuba section to be ready."

"I see it now, San." Brittany mused a little too loudly. "You're right. Those puffy fish are actually more threatening."

Santana was the first out of the room. She ruffled Quinn's hair on her way and paused to grimace and wipe her hand on her shorts. Mike and Brittany followed with bags of excess food.

Tina squeezed Rachel's arm and stepped in front of her. "You won't lose her," she whispered, holding Rachel's gaze. "Trust me, I can tell."

Rachel nodded stiltedly. Tina smiled and left her with a final squeeze. She stopped in front of Quinn at the door and reached up to pick the last of the honey mustard from her hair. Quinn squirmed before she realized what Tina was doing.

"Honestly, it's like you dumped it over your head." Tina chided quietly, flicking the dried bits away.

"She probably did." Rachel drawled, eyes sparkling.

"Is that seaweed in your hair, Rachel Berry?"

Rachel reached up automatically to check. Her hair was salty and curly and probably turning into dreads, but there was no seaweed. She rolled her eyes at herself. Quinn sidled over after thanking Tina and backed Rachel against the wall.

"Still here." Sam remarked without looking up from his sign.

Quinn ignored him. "You had a pretty doleful look on your face when I first walked in here." she said quietly, searching Rachel's eyes.

Rachel flushed.

"Is everything alright? Did you get stung again? Did you break something?"

"It's-yeah. Fine, fine." Rachel chuckled lightly. She reached for Quinn's hand.

Quinn narrowed her eyes. She brushed some wild hair behind Rachel's ear and decided to believe her because she looked warm and sincere. Quinn nodded, leaning forward.

"So _why_ are you not doing your job?" she wondered, eyes dancing.

Rachel shrugged. "I don't like my boss very much."

Quinn pressed her lips together. She dropped her gaze to the floor, smiling softly. "You know, my-my mom said you're sweet. She likes you."

Rachel's mouth fell open in disbelief. "Did you-you told her-"

"No, no." Quinn shook her head quickly and met Rachel's stare again. "Just, she said she likes you. And that you're cute." Quinn scrunched up her nose like she didn't agree.

Rachel ignored this. She held Quinn's gaze, pleased and content and warm. She opened her mouth to respond and Quinn leaned down to kiss her.

Sam started singing over his hammering.

"I'm glad your lunch went well." Rachel said quietly, brushing at the red skin on Quinn's cheek.

Quinn smiled. Sam hit the chorus of his song and began belting it out, and he gave Quinn a wink as she shuffled Rachel out of the room. Quinn had two priorities on her schedule right now: Judy Fabray and the Pro-Am.

And maybe a third if she was being honest with herself. She smiled and tugged at Rachel's mess of dark hair as they walked down the hallway.


	12. Chapter 12

**Ain't That a Kick in the Head**

**Chapter 12**

Rachel burst through the door of the diner with her phone in her hand and a confident smile on her face. She spotted Quinn at the counter, or the back of Quinn's blonde head and a faded red dive sweater, next to Judy. Rachel gave Brittany a wave and nearly skipped across the diner to slide into the stool next to Quinn.

Quinn didn't seem to notice, with her head on the counter and a plate of half-eaten waffles in front of her. She could just _feel _the buzz of energy that plopped onto the seat next to her, and she squinted her eyes open to see Rachel looming overhead.

"Good morning, Rachel." Judy greeted, smiling.

"Hello, Judy!" Rachel chirped. She sat up straight, excited, with her palms flat against the counter and her feet bouncing on the rungs of the stool.

Quinn's lips tipped up. She took a bite of waffle without lifting her head from the counter. "You're spry this morning." She drawled.

"Quinn, you're getting syrup in your hair." Judy observed, reaching out to remove the blonde strands from Quinn's plate.

Rachel chuckled, maybe a little uncontrollably. "I'm spry every morning!"

"You're going to need to wash this out." Judy frowned at Quinn's hair.

Quinn sat up and shook her head. "It's fine. I'm going in the ocean later." She stretched her arms over her head and laughed abruptly because Rachel and her mom pulled the exact same face. The _almost repulsed, fond face of disbelief_.

Quinn tucked her hair behind her ears to get her mom to ignore it and looked at Rachel. "What's got you so bouncy this morning?"

Really, it was lack of sleep due to the balmy, suffocating climate in Rachel's hotel room combined with the fact that she wasn't absolutely sure how the air conditioner was supposed to work. It provided for a lot of thinking time, when she wasn't rolling around and sweating and cursing the state of Florida.

"Just watch." Rachel winked, holding up her phone.

She dialed Kurt while Judy watched curiously and Quinn tried to get Rachel to taste a bite of her waffle. Rachel batted her hand away.

"If you don't have a yes or no then I have nothing to say to you, Rachel Berry!" Kurt trilled.

"Kurt." Rachel took a deep breath and locked eyes with Quinn, smiling widely. "I wish to formally accept the role of Reno Sweeney in the upcoming film adaptation of Cole Porter's _Anything Goes_."

Judy gasped slightly. "Oh my!"

Kurt heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief into the phone. "Well _thank heaven above_ she's finally decided, ladies and gentlemen!"

"Hey now." Rachel said absently, more focused on Quinn's reaction.

Quinn was smiling genuinely, lips pressed together. She said nothing, mostly because her throat may have closed up a bit, and she was proud and excited and suddenly wide awake. Rachel held her gaze until Kurt's shrieking in her ear finally distracted her.

Judy leaned forward to see Quinn's face. "You used to love that musical." She mused, smirking into her coffee.

Quinn hummed, unable to wipe the small smile from her face.

"Old musicals and sixties swing." Judy tilted her head. "It was odd. I suppose it was better to have Dean Martin turned up in your room than whatever rap nonsense the kids were listening to those days."

Quinn snorted, amused. She wondered if her mom remembered seeing Rachel perform in high school. If not, Quinn wasn't about to inform her.

She glanced around for Brittany and waved her down from the end of the bar. "Cupcakes, Britt!" she called.

Judy opened her mouth to protest.

"Celebratory!" Quinn shouted again, smiling when Rachel hung up the phone. "One chocolate, one vegan, and one…" Quinn tipped her head and studied her mom. Judy looked down at her blouse like she might have spilled something on herself.

"Peanut butter." Quinn decided, nodding resolutely.

Judy laughed lightly. "Honestly, it's eight in the morning."

Quinn stared at her. "And what better way to start the day?"

Brittany emerged from the back of the diner and slid a plate of three cupcakes across the counter, smiling brightly. "First of the day. Extra frosting for you, Q. And for your mom because I figured you'd be the same."

Rachel watched with interest as Judy and Quinn tackled their cupcakes. They both peeled off the paper and tasted the frosting with their fingers, and then broke off a piece of the bottom to eat. They unwittingly moved in parallel, and Rachel chuckled to herself while she ate her own. She'd bet that Judy would love boiled peanuts and sweet potato fries as well.

Quinn finished first because living with Sam had trained her to eat like a wolf. She sat back on her stool and watched Rachel lick the frosting from her lips. Rachel caught her eye and Quinn's cheeks warmed.

She slid off the stool and impulsively wrapped her arms around Rachel. "Congratulations." She proclaimed into dark hair. She twisted side to side so that Rachel spun on her stool.

"You'll be great, Rachel Berry." She murmured.

"A hug?" Rachel gasped, joking. She lodged a foot against the wall to stop spinning and squeezed Quinn. "From Quinn Fabray?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Rachel pulled back, but kept a hand on Quinn's side. Judy seemed fascinated with her cupcake, with half in her mouth and the rest in her hand and on her face.

Rachel smiled at Quinn. "Thank you. I will do everything I can not to ruin your favorite musical."

…..

The days before the Pro-Am weekend were hectic, to say the least. Quinn kept on top of all of the schedules, directing her employees with the easy confidence that Rachel had become accustomed to. Unfortunately, she seemed to be going slightly insane as well, and Santana, Mike, and Sam all buckled down to avoid aggravating her.

Rachel was currently hiding out in the storeroom, semi-frantically stuffing bags full of the things she'd be giving out at their booth on the beach- mostly board wax, lanyards, and t-shirts.

"The guy from Rusty landed two hours ago!" Quinn shouted from the lounge. "What the _hell_ are you still doing here, Sam?"

Rachel winced. She pictured Sam cowering behind the couch and began stuffing her bags faster.

"Can I help you with that, Rachel?"

Rachel nearly shrieked. She lurched sideways into a stockroom shelf and spun to see Judy standing at the doorway, looking apologetic. Rachel seized her poor heart and smiled shakily. She'd thought it was Quinn, slinking around corners with her sharp eyes.

"That's-that would be great, Judy. Thank you." She managed.

Judy smiled and stepped into the room.

"If you could untangle these," Rachel held out the box of Jupiter Surf lanyards, eyeing the doorway and listening for signs of Quinn, "and then put one in each bag, and I'll do the wax."

"She keeps you on your toes, doesn't she?" Judy mused, eyes glinting playfully.

Rachel's cheeks warmed. She dug her nails into a block of wax and smiled hard at the floor. "She's very serious about her business, yes."

"I can imagine. It seems very successful."

Rachel side-eyed Judy, watching intently. "Are you surprised?"

Rachel had been surprised when she'd first seen how successful Jupiter Surf was. For such a small, sand-filled yellow shack, it was definitely a favorite of the local surfers. Rachel decided they appreciated authenticity and quality over mass produced shit for beach tourists.

"Oh no, not at all." Judy shook her head quickly. "Quinn was always so bright and creative. I knew she'd find success."

Rachel slowed her work. She twirled a bag around to tie the top and narrowed her eyes curiously. "So that's-even after-" She shook her head. If she could barely get Quinn to answer her questions, her mother would probably be even less receptive. "No, nevermind."

"Go ahead, Rachel." Judy smiled, a little nervously. "You can ask."

Rachel attempted to keep her tone even, judgement-free. "Is that why you wouldn't let her come home when she was paralyzed? Because you _knew she'd find success_?" Rachel used air quotes, a block of wax in each hand.

"Honestly, that was her father's decision, and it was wrong for me to go along with it." Judy spoke quietly, eyes focused on each lanyard she was meticulously untangling.

Rachel hummed vaguely, unconvinced.

"I knew she was…_gay_." Judy continued. She met Rachel's eyes, completely genuine. "Since she was in high school. So after the accident…it wasn't a surprise at all."

Rachel nodded, frowning.

"Her father was just…ignorant and angry." Judy rolled her eyes. She yanked a few lanyards apart. "Always _so_ angry, and hard-headed and just blind to everything that would upset him. So that's-he's in the past now. I told Quinn that."

Rachel watched Judy wind a lanyard around her fingers. "So you're here to fix things with her?"

Judy sighed. She smiled wryly at Rachel. "I'm here for whatever she needs. If she just needs help for this surfing competition, that's what I'll be."

Rachel tipped her head. "I think she needs her mom too." She murmured, and then smiled because Judy looked pleased. "But yes, she'll have you lugging surfboards along the beach and vacuuming out her couch if you're not careful."

Judy laughed loudly at that and relaxed to lean against the stockroom shelves. Rachel noticed that she was wearing rolled up pants and a pair of Quinn's flip-flops.

"So Rachel, when you start filming for that movie, will Quinn go to LA with you?" Judy wondered. Rachel's smile faltered. "Or do you plan on a-some kind of long distance…_relationship_?"

Rachel remembered Quinn saying that she hadn't outlined the nature of their relationship for her mother. Quinn was more of a "let her roll with it, and then jump off that bridge when they come to it" kind of girl.

Rachel wasn't sure if she should jump off the bridge. She decided to meander precariously along the edge.

"We're not exactly…" Rachel snapped a block of wax in half and held it up to her nose to smell. "We haven't really…_discussed_ what will happen when I go back to California."

"Oh." Judy's eyebrows rose.

She obviously expected more, and Rachel wished that Quinn would come stampeding around the corner in her red shorts, barking orders to rescue her.

"Yes, um…" Rachel held the wax up to her face to analyze it closely. And to block Judy's semi-amused and confused gaze. "I mean, I'm sure we'll keep in touch."

God, _lame_. Rachel groaned internally. Sex Wax really did smell amazing.

"I've just never had the chance to know one of my daughter's…_girlfriends_, before." Judy explained, seemingly letting Rachel off the hook. "I'm glad-I'm glad she has you. And those friends of hers." Judy chuckled to herself. "I know they're not very fond of me right now."

Rachel's eyes widened, distracted. She wondered if she was Quinn's girlfriend.

"_There you are_!"

Rachel's heart leapt into her throat. She and Judy both jumped sideways into the stockroom shelves, sending a pile of wax and folded t-shirts to the floor.

"_Shit_," Rachel proclaimed over Judy's quiet "_Good Lord_, Quinn."

"Are you almost finished?" Quinn said sharply, leaning into the stockroom. One pair of glasses sat crookedly on her nose and another was askew on top of her head. She had her sleeves rolled up with a messy hot dog in one hand and a sheaf of papers in the other.

Rachel scrunched up her nose. "You're dripping cheese on the floor."

"I need you to help me run the front." Quinn tipped the hot dog so the cheese ran up her arm instead. Judy watched, a little repulsed, until Quinn looked at her. "Mom, can you-will you-no, nevermind, just-"

"I'll finish here." Judy interrupted as several sheets of paper fluttered from Quinn's grasp to the floor. Quinn leaned over to pick them up and her glasses went tumbling after them- both pairs.

"You can go, Rachel."

Rachel met Judy's gaze. It was relieved, amused, a little smug. Judy shooed her in Quinn's direction, eyebrows raised, and Rachel shook her head slightly. And then she dragged herself forward to help Quinn wipe the cheese from her schedules.

….

Rachel scanned the shop from her seat behind the counter. It was mostly empty, probably because it was pouring with rain and an hour from closing. The shelves were fully stocked for the weekend and the clutter had been organized into neatly priced, wobbly stacks and rows. The booth Rachel would be running was out back- a pile of tables and banners- ready to be set up on the beach Friday morning.

Everything was prepared, everything was ready, but Quinn couldn't seem to stop double-checking. She tapped her fingers restlessly against the glass counter and looked at Rachel.

"Finn will be here tomorrow morning." She said abruptly, rolling her sleeves back up. "He said was delayed. And he said he has a surprise for us."

Rachel narrowed her eyes. "A surprise?"

"He asked how big our parking lot was."

Quinn was skeptical. Not only was her new scuba manager showing up at the last possible minute, but he'd be springing some kind of surprise on her that had to do with the size of her gravel parking lot. Rachel smiled at Quinn's expression.

"I'm sure it'll be fine."

Quinn nodded easily. She slid her glasses onto the top of her head and stretched her arms out. "We'll go with it. If not, Sham can deal."

Rachel watched her rub at her face, and then her eyes. Quinn grimaced when she realized there was sand on her hands.

"You know, your mom referred to me as your girlfriend." Rachel informed casually.

Quinn tilted sideways, staring.

"I didn't…_correct_ her or anything." Rachel dragged her fingers along the glass countertop, and then stopped when she realized she was leaving fingerprints everywhere. "Should I have?"

Quinn shook her head shortly.

"But I'm not actually your girlfriend, right?" Rachel ventured. She found herself a little saddened by the question. "Because what's the point in me being your girlfriend if I'm leaving next week, right? I get it."

Quinn blinked at her. "You don't want to be my girlfriend?"

"I just…don't see the point."

"Because you'll be leaving?" Quinn frowned. It was ridiculous. She tugged on Rachel's arm until she slid off of her stool and stood between Quinn's legs. Rachel fixed Quinn's popped, rumpled collar.

"Right now, today, you're my girlfriend." Quinn said, catching Rachel's bashful gaze.

Rachel kept toying with Quinn's collar. Her lips turned up slightly. "Am I?"

Quinn hummed sagely. "Whether you like it or not, Rachel Berry."

"How long have I been your girlfriend?"

"A while." Quinn shrugged. She draped her arms loosely around Rachel's waist. "Where have you been? Sleeping the days away?"

Rachel laughed. She tipped forward, squeezing both of Quinn's thighs. "I can't believe you didn't tell me I was your girlfriend."

"I can't believe you think I'd do these things with someone who isn't my girlfriend."

Rachel felt giddy. She narrowed her eyes and leaned further into Quinn. "What things?"

Quinn smiled widely. She tipped her head up so that her nose butted against Rachel's and kissed her lightly. It was an awkward angle, with Quinn sitting on the stool and Rachel standing, but Quinn adjusted slightly and tried again and Rachel moaned a little against her lips. Quinn chuckled, pleased.

Rachel shook her head to get her to stop laughing. She swept her tongue along Quinn's lip and chose to ignore the lingering taste of hot dog. Quinn's hands dropped playfully to Rachel's butt and Rachel's stayed wrapped up in Quinn's collar, probably stretching it beyond repair.

Rachel's eyes darkened when Quinn squeezed. She tipped her head back to catch her breath just in time to catch a loud "Oh!" from the doorway to the board room.

Rachel shot sideways into the countertop, steadying herself before she could send anything crashing to the floor. Quinn blinked, dazed, confused as to why her hands were no longer on Rachel's ass. Judy stood in the doorway, cheeks flaming, with a customer behind her.

Quinn experienced a moment of nausea- a real, severe, frightening moment where she was definitely going to throw up- before she remembered that this was not three years ago. Judy was not Russell, and she had a home and friends and the ability to walk and _Rachel _next to her, who'd been scared so many times today that it was probably taking years off her life.

"This young woman was hoping you could help her, Quinn." Judy explained, still bright red. She barely managed to meet Quinn's eyes, not that Quinn was trying overly hard to let her.

Rachel wiped at her own face and patted down her hair. Quinn's collar looked like she'd been mauled by something- which she had- but there wasn't much Rachel could do about that at the moment.

"I sure can." Quinn drawled, discreetly pulling her shorts lower to cover the marks where Rachel had squeezed her thighs.

Rachel slipped out from behind the counter to stand next to Judy while the customer, a young woman with dark hair and dark eyes, slightly taller than Rachel, sidled up to the counter with a smile.

"Sorry." Rachel whispered, side-eyeing Judy.

Judy almost snorted. She flushed all over again and shook her head. "Dear…You don't need to be sorry for that."

"I understand if it makes you uncomfortable."

"It's sweet." Judy smiled reassuringly, still not totally able to meet Rachel's eyes, or even look in her general direction. "I've never seen…I mean, Quinn's never… She seemed very enthusiastic." She managed, and then grimaced at what she'd just said.

Rachel cheeks burned even hotter. She leaned against the doorway and watched Quinn with the customer.

"My name's Lauren." The woman started, smiling sweetly. "My friend was in here a couple of weeks ago. Maybe you remember her? Brunette, green eyes, gorgeous legs?"

Quinn stared dumbly. Rachel had tasted so good.

Rachel narrowed her eyes while Judy's brow lifted, amused.

"I think she was looking for shorts." Lauren offered, eyeing Quinn's legs.

Both Rachel's and Quinn's eyes widened in recognition. Quinn's almost rolled as well- right out of her head- but she ducked at the last minute and smiled her "roll with it" smile.

"Right, the lifeguard shorts." She nodded. "Are you looking for the same ones?"

"I'm actually looking for a surfboard leash. She told me that you'd be able to help me."

Quinn seemed to brighten at that. She stood up from her stool and glanced over Lauren's shoulder at their wall of leashes. "Definitely." She nodded. "What type of board do you have? And how long is it?"

Judy leaned towards Rachel. "Does she have 'Juicy' tattooed across her lower back, or am I misreading that?" she whispered.

Rachel turned her snort into a cough, and smiled politely when Lauren looked over.

"I don't have one yet." Lauren explained, holding Rachel's gaze for an extra beat. She turned back to Quinn and giggled like she'd said something funny. "What kind do you have? I'll probably get the same kind."

Quinn stared, disappointed that her expertise wouldn't actually be needed. Rachel and her mom seemed to be enjoying themselves over in their little corner. Quinn clenched her jaw.

"I have a shortboard with a six foot leash." She informed. "Do you surf?"

Lauren's eyes lit up and she leaned forward on the counter. "I was actually wondering if you give lessons! I know you teach the little kids how to surf so maybe you do adults as well?"

Quinn smiled tightly. "I don't give adults surf lessons."

"You won't make a single exception?" Lauren pouted. "I'm a very fast learner. I'm sure I can teach you things in return."

Judy covered her mouth to smother something- a cry, a gasp, a laugh. Rachel didn't know.

Quinn decided to ignore mostly everything that Lauren had just said. "I don't give adults lessons." She repeated firmly. She caught Rachel's eye. "Except for…_very special_ cases."

Lauren seemed to be getting bored with her current strategy. She reached out to pluck invisible lint from Quinn's hair, and tugged on one of the blonde strands when she pulled her hand back. Rachel pushed off the wall, frowning.

"Maybe I could take you out for dinner." Lauren suggested coyly. "There's some stupid competition thing this weekend, but maybe next week?"

Quinn's eyes flashed. She exhaled sharply from her nose.

"Excuse me, honey." Judy surged forward while Rachel hovered indecisively by the doorway, wondering if Lauren would recognize her if she intervened. Judy wrapped an arm around Quinn and faced Lauren, who looked mildly surprised.

"This is my daughter." Judy informed proudly. Quinn's breath hitched. She stared at her mom.

"She actually has a lovely girlfriend already, and we're closing right now, so if there's nothing more we can help you with, perhaps you can move along?"

Lauren's mouth dropped open. She turned immediately and studied Rachel. "Is that your girlfriend?"

"I don't think that's any of your business, is it?" Judy said sharply.

Rachel leaned against the wall, watching Quinn watch her mom. She looked ready to break down, just soft and unguarded and oblivious to everything except what her mom was saying. Rachel forced herself to stay by the wall.

Lauren's stare was on Rachel. It was judgmental now, and Rachel knew she'd been made. While Kurt would press for non-disclosures, Rachel honestly didn't care at the moment.

"Well. I'll be around." Lauren finally said, looking back at Quinn. She walked to the door and waved flirtatiously, cutting her eyes at Rachel. "I'm sure I'll see you again, Quinn."

"Doubt it." Judy said loudly.

Quinn's shoulders shuddered once before she tipped into her mom's side. Judy wrapped both arms around her while Rachel locked the front doors. Quinn wasn't saying anything, and if she was crying it was discreet and barely noticeable, like always. She just held tightly and let Judy run her fingers through her tangled hair.

Whatever she was feeling was brand new, long awaited, and she didn't know what to make of it. Rachel joined them, a little awkwardly, but Judy smiled warmly at her, teary-eyed.

"Thank you, mom." Quinn mumbled, finally pulling back. She wiped under her eyes, gaze fixed on the floor.

Judy kissed her head. "I love you, honey."

Quinn released another great, shuddering sigh at that. She went for Rachel this time, and Rachel folded her up in her arms and pressed her nose against Quinn's rumpled collar. Quinn breathed shallowly, sniffling until she could trust herself not to cry.

"It seems my daughter is quite the catch." Judy mused lightly, wiping at her own tears.

Quinn gave a watery laugh. She pulled back from Rachel, who kept her hands on Quinn's sides, and rubbed at her eyes. Rachel wiped away the streaks with her thumb when Quinn was finished.

Quinn fidgeted, flushed and embarrassed under both of their concerned stares.

"This happens _all_ the time." Rachel exaggerated, smiling at Judy. "She has to beat them off with sticks."

Judy nodded wisely. "I'm sure."

"Shut it." Quinn mumbled, dragging her hands through her hair to regain some semblance of control. She scrunched her nose when Rachel leaned up to kiss her cheek.

Her mom smiled at her, warm and concerned and nothing like the woman who stood at Russell's side years ago while he ranted about how the accident was Quinn's fault. Quinn took her girlfriend's hand and her mom's arm and pulled them both toward the back of the shop, ready for the Pro-Am.

….

"Mike, you're meeting the Quiksilver guy at the pier in an hour." Quinn said loudly, pacing in front of the couch in the lounge. "_Don't _forget his name." She shuffled through her papers, frowning. "What was it? Alex? Bailey?"

"Albee." Mike drawled, half asleep.

It was five in the morning on Friday, the first day of the Pro-Am. Quinn had ordered a meeting before the crack of dawn because she remained convinced that she worked with incompetent morons.

"Albee, right." Quinn repeated. "Don't forget that."

Mike rolled his eyes.

"Samson, Santana," Quinn pointed at them, sprawled on the couch in brand new, matching blue Jupiter Surf t-shirts. Neither moved, probably because they had fallen asleep.

Tina lobbed a pillow tiredly from the couch, catching Sam square in the face.

"Shop opens in an hour." Quinn proclaimed. She ran a hand through her hair, clean and neat in canvas shoes, rolled-up pants, and her own Jupiter Surf t-shirt. Rachel reclined in the armchair, watching her butt to keep herself awake.

"Keep the shelves stocked and smile." Quinn instructed. "Sham, show the surfers your boards. Rusty and Rip Curl will be there before noon."

Sam groaned in acknowledgement.

"Roll with the flow, but no fucking around." Quinn said, eyes flashing seriously.

Santana nodded and coughed on her Pop-Tart, too tired to chew properly.

Quinn spun on her heel and fixed her blazing gaze on Rachel and Tina. Rachel immediately straightened, alert. Tina tipped groggily sideways before correcting herself.

"Rachel and Tina, I'll help you set up the booth. You hand out the merchandise, greet the surfers, the spectators, film the competition, and update the website's surf conditions and contest results." Quinn paused for a breath. Rachel watched with wide eyes, a little concerned.

"I was out there this morning." Quinn continued, ignoring the gasps of surprise that she'd been up hours before five. Rachel wasn't surprised at all. "I expect five to seven feet, low tide at about eleven twenty. Water temperature's sixty-five, hopefully no rips."

"You were at the _beach_ this morning?" Santana questioned loudly.

Quinn ignored her completely, stepping closer to Rachel and Tina. She caught Rachel's eye and relaxed slightly, even managing one of her easy smiles.

"Basically, spread the word and look pretty."

Rachel nodded, determined.

"You can even sing if you like." Quinn winked.

"How…did you wake up to get to the beach this morning?" Sam wondered thickly. "It's…what time is it?"

"Mom," Quinn spun around again, sending half her papers fluttering to the floor. Mike rolled over to help her pick them up. "Hopefully you've started the food orders. We need constant donuts and pizza at the booth and the shop."

Judy nodded seriously. "I'm handling it, Quinn."

"Are you sure? Because Angelo's runs out early on Fridays, and the donut place-"

"I promise you I have it covered, honey." Judy assured, smiling indulgently.

"Did you say you were at the beach this morning, Q?" Santana wondered again, eyes narrowed.

Quinn was shuffling through her papers, checking all of the schedules a final time. Shop opens at six, meet Dakine at seven, first heat at eight, surfboard giveaway at nine…It was endless. She looked up when the rumbling of a truck outside permeated the silent room.

"Scuba's here." She said simply, before sliding her pen behind her ear and heading for the door.

Everybody followed single file, out the yellow door and into the cool, dewy morning air. It was still dark, and the mosquitoes were out and the crickets were loud, and there was an undercurrent of excitement despite the tired bodies.

Rachel grinned as soon as she saw it, sitting right there in the gravel parking lot.

Finn slid out of the cab of the pick-up truck, the _monster_ truck, really. He tugged on his own Jupiter Surf t-shirt, slightly small on his bulky frame. It read "Dive master" across his shoulders on the back. He waved happily at the line of sleepy people all staring at the vessel on his trailer.

"Surprise!" He greeted joyfully.

It was a thirty-seven foot dive boat, pretty much the same as the one Quinn and Rachel had been on in Miami. Except this one was emblazoned with "Jupiter Surf: Snorkeling and Diving Tours" on the hull. Finn had added their sea turtle logo and a dive flag on the back, and Quinn looked stunned to tears.

Rachel was right there with her. Everybody was, actually. Eight people in blue t-shirts lined up in the dark at the ass crack of dawn before a thirty-seven foot dive boat.

Rachel had to laugh. How she'd come this far, she didn't know. But the Jupiter Pro-Am surf competition was here, and she was excited.


	13. Chapter 13

**Ain't that a Kick in the Head**

**Chapter 13**

Rachel managed two hours at the booth Friday morning before breaking into song. The surfers and spectators crowding the beach seemed to love the giveaways she and Tina would enthusiastically fling at them as they strolled by, and Rachel decided to step up her game. Give the people what they want. Her new goal was to draw the largest crowd on the beach. Jupiter Surf would destroy all of the other vendors.

Of course, Rachel was about four shades darker than usual, disguised by her curled hair and sunglasses, so she had to accomplish this goal without being recognized.

She connected her iPod to the speakers Puck had set up, danced around the small, tented space to limber up, and then blasted "Surfin' USA," just loud enough to overpower "California Love" coming from a rival shop set up about thirty yards away.

"Let's go, girl!" Rachel exclaimed, gesturing to Tina as she bounced out of the booth, because how could she be expected to properly let loose in such a tiny space?

Tina held up a hand, amused. Mildly embarrassed. "I'm good, thanks."

"Suit yourself!" Rachel tossed over her shoulder.

She smiled widely at the beachgoers passing by and joined the song right at "a bushy, bushy blonde hairdo," totally in her element. It was difficult to dance in the sand with lanyards and t-shirts draped over her arms, but she managed to shuffle around, bouncing with the tune and handing out goodies to the people who paused.

Some of them smiled, some danced, some approached Tina for information. Everybody knew the song.

"_We're waxin' down our surfboards, we can't wait for June_." Rachel was pleased with the slight SoCal accent she was pulling off. No trace of vibrato at all.

The crowd was clapping by the time the song reached its instrumental portion. Rachel spied several children dancing, flailing, around near their parents, and she grinned and hopped over to them.

"Good morning! Feel free to grab some donuts!" She greeted the adults before crouching in front of the children. The ends of the lanyards dropped into the sand. "Would you guys like some stickers?"

Rachel pulled the roll of turtle stickers out of her shorts pocket when she received several shy nods.

"These are sea turtles." She informed brightly, carefully peeling each sticker off.

One boy perked up. He held his hand out eagerly. "Like Crush!"

Rachel smiled at him and pressed the sticker to the back of his hand. "Yeah, just like Crush!" She stood back up and passed out a few lanyards to the children's parents, and then leaned over again to address the kids.

"If you guys ever want to learn to surf, that sticker will tell you where to go, okay?" Rachel pointed to the sea turtle logo. She started backing away when she registered that the song had changed. "I promise it's loads of fun!"

And then she turned on her heel and bounded around to the rest of the crowd, waiting for the lyrics of "Fun, fun, fun" to come back to her.

Quinn decided that having Rachel Berry run her booth on the beach was one of the greatest decisions she'd ever made. She'd just finished the surfboard giveaway on the pier when a growing group gathered around the blue Jupiter Surf tent fifty yards down the beach caught her eye.

She squinted from behind her sunglasses and laughed abruptly when she recognized the small brunette bounding about with familiar exuberance.

"She's good." Mike mused, materializing next to Quinn.

Quinn jumped at his sudden appearance. She shook her head and shoved his shoulder. "Make some noise, man."

Mike's eyes danced between Quinn's enthralled gaze and Rachel down on the beach. He chuckled to himself. "All the noise in the world, Quinn. I don't think that would've mattered."

…

Rachel collapsed back into her seat next to Tina. She was flushed and sweating and covered in sand, and _honestly_ how did Floridians leave their houses during the summer? After only thirty minutes Rachel was breathing thickly and regretting her song session.

"You got through the whole album." Tina observed, impressed.

Rachel lolled her head sideways, unable to speak.

Tina laughed, pulled a water from their cooler, and fanned Rachel with a program. "I think you've made us the most popular booth."

Rachel held a fist in the air, victorious. She guzzled down her water and pressed it to her forehead.

Tina rested her chin on her hand and watched Rachel. "You know, the parents of those kids you were talking to asked me if you were the one who gave surf lessons."

Rachel snorted at the absurdity, the _danger_.

Tina smirked. "I told them no. They seemed disappointed."

"They won't be when they meet Quinn." Rachel assured.

"I think everybody you just sang to will be disappointed when you leave in three days."

Rachel turned to meet Tina's gaze, eyes narrowing.

Tina held up her hands defensively. "I mean, I know it's necessary. I'm just saying."

Rachel hummed. She looked away and reached up to re-tie her hair back, slicking the sweaty strands off her forehead. Tina waited for the competition announcer to fall quiet before speaking again.

"What will you and Quinn do when you leave?" she asked curiously, cautiously.

Rachel's chest tightened suddenly. She licked her lips, fanning herself with the program. She seemed to be descending into some kind of heat stroke.

"We'll keep in touch." She managed.

Tina nodded, eyeing her carefully. She picked up her own program to help fan Rachel. Rachel smiled at her gratefully.

"So you'll do the whole long distance thing?"

Rachel wondered how Kurt would handle a 3000 mile long, _long_ distance relationship between his Broadway and film star and a surfer "nobody" in Florida. She wondered how _Quinn_ would handle it. Quinn, who resented riding in anything with wheels and forgot to feed Mars Cat on a regular basis.

Rachel bit her lip. Maybe an amicable parting as friends would be the best they could do.

"We'll see." Rachel finally said, hoping to end the conversation.

Tina relented. She tipped back in her chair, still fanning Rachel, and propped her feet up on the table.

"California has gorgeous beaches." She mused, eyes closed. "And, I mean, the surf is hard to beat. Just twenty minutes from your house you have Hermosa, Manhattan, Santa Monica-"

"I know what you're doing." Rachel said wryly.

Tina smiled, eyes still closed. "Just thinking out loud, Rachel."

Rachel looked at her, unamused. She reached over and dragged her cold water bottle up Tina's bare arm. "I can't ask her to leave here."

Tina yanked the bottle out of Rachel's grasp and held her hand instead. She didn't say anything, just shrugged and squeezed Rachel's hand and leaned back to watch more of the contest. Rachel sighed. It was probably time to have a talk with Quinn Fabray.

…

By lunchtime, Rachel was dizzyingly warm and legitimately worried about the effects of short term heat stress on her body. Quinn showed up at the booth, shoved four or five donuts into her mouth one after the other, and then suggested they jump in the ocean between contest heats, and Rachel gladly agreed.

They didn't surf, just paddled out where no waves were breaking and no children shrieking. Rachel lay flat on her longboard-probably burning her exposed back- while Quinn drifted lazily, one eye on her booth and one on the pier.

She rested a hand on the nose of Rachel's board to prevent the tide from carrying it out to sea, and Rachel lolled her head to the side and scrunched up her nose at the sun. Quinn watched as Rachel's eyes fluttered open, squinting goofily at her.

Quinn had to smile. She bit her cheek and turned away when she felt her face warming.

"What?" Rachel asked, smiling.

Quinn looked back at her, eyebrow raised.

"You're blushing." Rachel pressed.

Quinn scoffed. She ran a hand through her hair, fluffing it out, and scanned the activity on the pier. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Rachel laughed. She propped her chin on her hands and observed Quinn. She'd foregone a rashguard, so her shoulders were turning a flaming red, nearly the same color as her bikini top. Rachel noticed that the scars on her abdomen became more pronounced in the sun.

"Have you ever done drugs?" Rachel asked impulsively.

Weeks ago she would've refrained from asking such a question, but now she knew to expect a non-answer from Quinn, and she'd be perfectly fine with that. Information couldn't be dragged out of Quinn. It had to unravel or erupt violently on its own.

Quinn narrowed her eyes, half-smiling. "Why?"

Rachel shrugged. "I was just remembering the first time I saw you on the beach." She ginned impishly. "In those Aviators, when you tripped me, remember? I assumed you were a pothead."

The scene came rushing back- Rachel trudging along the beach in her flip flops and Hollywood sunglasses- and Quinn almost smiled. She shook her head slowly instead, eyeing Rachel seriously.

"Nope. Memory problems, remember?"

Rachel hummed wisely. "So you _don't_ remember."

Quinn tilted her head. She shook Rachel's board from side to side while she thought. "I remember…" she started slowly, watching a small smile grow on Rachel's face. "…a girl falling over me, calling me a bitch, playing with a man 'o war, and then crying to me when she got her leg all stung."

Rachel pursed her lips.

Quinn looked at her innocently, hazel eyes glinting in the sun. "Was that you?"

Rachel sat up on her board and dislodged it from Quinn's grasp. "No, actually. Who's this other woman you're remembering?"

A fleeting expression of confusion crossed Quinn's face, and Rachel _almost_ felt bad for teasing her. It was surprisingly easy to instill doubt into Quinn's recollection of her own memories. But then Rachel was laughing, and Quinn used an arm to splash a barrage of water in her direction.

"You kept telling me I was a lifeguard." Quinn reminded, ears tinged pink.

Rachel looked pointedly into the water. She could just make out Quinn's red shorts.

Quinn shook her head wordlessly. She chuckled to herself at nothing, maybe at Rachel, at the faces she made and the things she said. She picked quietly at her board wax for a moment.

"To answer your question, no." She glanced over to find Rachel watching her intently. "I never did that kind of stuff. Not really."

Rachel nodded easily, unwilling to pry further. "Thank you for answering me."

"Sure, babe." Quinn said, and it was stated so absently that Rachel wasn't positive Quinn even registered that she'd used a term of endearment.

She chose to let it go. And present her next question.

The large timer mounted onto the contest tent indicated that they had twenty more minutes before the start of the next heat, when the surf zone had to be cleared.

"Have you ever thought about leaving here?" Rachel asked casually.

Quinn must've been thinking about something else because she blinked blankly at Rachel for a few seconds before furrowing her brow, jaw clenched.

"I'll be leaving on Monday." Rachel continued softly, head bowed. "I just wondered…"

"Rachel…" Quinn sighed. She rubbed at her red shoulders and adjusted her bikini straps, eyes fixed on the side of Rachel's head.

"Yeah, I have thought about it." Quinn admitted, and the hopeful expression on Rachel's face when she looked up tugged on her heart. "My shop is here. My friends- Sam and Santana and Mike-this place, they saved my life, sort of. I can't just…leave them behind."

Rachel imagined that fear played a part as well. Of course Quinn couldn't leave the place and the people that put her back together.

"I understand." Rachel nodded. She smiled softly because Quinn couldn't seem to look at her. "I'm never going to beat this summer with you."

Quinn cut her gaze over, and Rachel's breath hitched at the ephemeral, stricken look she received. Quinn's face quickly set into a painfully even expression.

"You think we should break up when you leave."

"I-no." Rachel lied, because that's exactly what she'd been hinting at, but the look on Quinn's face stopped her.

Quinn's eyes flickered between Rachel's. They stood out brightly on her sun-reddened face.

"No?"

"I'm sure we'll make it work." Rachel assured, searching for confidence.

Quinn looked younger than usual- with her bright face and fluffed out hair- and more vulnerable, because of the exposed, inflamed scars and unblinking, honest gaze. Rachel was abruptly baffled as to how she'd gotten Quinn Fabray in this position, where she could probably cut her down with just a few words.

But that was absolutely the last thing she wanted to do.

"We can Skype daily." Rachel suggested, oddly relieved that she'd thrown away her own break-up idea.

Quinn nodded slowly.

"And I'm constantly flying. I'm sure I'll be able to come back soon. Maybe we'll even have a break in shooting. I don't know the schedule yet."

Quinn kept nodding. She swallowed thickly and stared hard down at her board.

Rachel paddled herself closer, until her thigh pressed against Quinn's and she could wrap an arm around Quinn's shoulders. She ducked her head to catch Quinn's gaze.

"Are you okay?" she wondered gently.

Quinn gave a short laugh. She was screaming internally at herself to pull it together.

"Hey." Rachel smiled carefully, rubbing circles on the small of Quinn's back. "Head on straight?"

"It's-I'm glad that I have longer than two days left with you." Quinn murmured, cheeks reddening even further.

Rachel's smile grew. She leaned her cheek against Quinn's shoulder. "You know, you called me babe earlier."

Quinn shook her head at herself. She was out of control today.

"I liked it, goofy feet." Rachel joked.

Quinn groaned loudly. She stopped supporting her own weight and tipped off her board into Rachel's side, dragging them both into the water. Rachel shrieked and Quinn caught sight of the contest timer.

Six minutes to the next heat.

"God babe, stop messing around." She admonished, wrapping an arm around Rachel's waist- just to make sure she wasn't actually drowning. She quickly kissed Rachel's indignant lips and propelled away to swim back to shore.

…..

By mid-Saturday, Jupiter Surf was running the most popular booth on the beach. Spectators came by asking about Rachel and her giveaways, inquiring about the new, gigantic scuba boat garnering attention in the harbor, and wondering about Santana and Mike, the winners of the bikini and boardies contest Friday night.

Rachel was impressed. Quinn definitely knew how to get her name out there.

On Sunday morning, Quinn woke Judy at dawn and met Rachel at the pier for a special church service on the beach. Judy was hesitant, probably because she'd been a member of the same strict, midwest Baptist church her whole life- where surfside worship in bare feet and summer dresses would never fly.

"I fit in better here." Quinn had said simply, offering her mom a donut over the kitchen table

Judy's gaze had dropped to the worn, silver cross around Quinn's neck. "Okay." She'd nodded resolutely. "It can't hurt to try."

Rows of plastic chairs were set up on the beach, facing a small stage where the pastor stood, shielding his eyes against the rising sun.

"I think _somebody_ failed to think this through properly." He joked, halfway through the sermon.

Judy had seemed surprised to see him wearing cuffed khakis and a colorful button-down. She observed the other guests wordlessly- children in shorts and polos, adults in linen and light dresses, lots of rolled-up pants and sleeves and bare feet. Quinn couldn't tell if her mom was uncomfortable with the informality, or if she was just silently taking it all in.

"You need some sunglasses, Pastor Mike?" A grinning teenager stood from the front row, holding his glasses in the air.

"Bring 'em on up, Joey, before I go blind." Pastor Mike held his hands up, deepening his voice. "And if the blind lead the blind, both shall fall into the ditch!"

Quinn laughed along with everybody else. She was pleased to hear her mother chuckle as well.

By the end of the sermon, Judy was nodding along with everything Pastor Mike said. She'd unbuckled her sandals and buried her feet in the sand, and followed along intently in Quinn's Bible. As the service dispersed, Quinn was dragged to the edge of the water by a few of her surf students and Judy turned to Rachel.

"Are you comfortable with this, Rachel?" she queried.

Rachel tipped her head, confused, and Judy gestured vaguely around. "Being Jewish, you're comfortable attending church with Quinn?"

"Oh!" Rachel's eyes widened in realization. She nodded immediately. "Yes, definitely."

Judy hummed curiously. She seemed conflicted.

"It's important to her." Rachel elaborated. "I think it-she hasn't talked about it much, but I think it was a large part of her recovery."

Judy's gaze drifted away to where Quinn was kicking water up into some six-year-olds' faces. "She's had the same cross since she was ten."

Rachel smiled, surprised that Quinn hadn't lost it.

"I'm thinking of moving down here." Judy informed quietly.

Rachel lifted her eyebrows. Judy bent forward to put her sandals back on and Rachel watched the side of her head.

"I haven't told Quinn yet, but there's nothing really for me in Ohio anymore. It's just me in that large house Quinn's father picked out, so I've put it on the market and I've got a buyer lined up already."

"Oh…wow." Rachel remarked, impressed.

Judy half-smiled. "I'm going to speak to Quinn about it this week."

Rachel looked to where Quinn was throwing gobs of wet sand at children. They shrieked happily and flung their own balls of mud back at her.

"I think she'll be pleased." Rachel predicted.

She swallowed thickly because the sun was up now and her last full day in Jupiter had officially started, and Quinn was covered in saltwater and sand and absolutely brilliant. Judy would be moving down here while Rachel would be leaving all these new people she loved.

"Judy, I'm just going to take a quick walk down the beach." Rachel excused herself quickly.

"Are you-"

"I'm fine, I just need to take it all in one last time."

She breathed deeply- the warm air was suffocating- and blinked rapidly until she was away from the church crowd. The rest of the beach was mostly empty and she trudged aimlessly through the dry, deeper sand.

Quinn spun Robbie around one last time, making sure to drop him in the shallow water, and then hurried back to the plastic chairs where her mom was seated.

"Mom, where's Rachel going?" she panted, watching Rachel's retreating figure.

Judy followed her gaze. "She said for a walk. She left fairly quickly."

"And you didn't try to stop her?"

Judy gave Quinn a look. "Honey, how do you stop a top from spinning around?"

Quinn exhaled sharply. It was true. Stopping an emotional Rachel Berry was like trying to spin the world the other way. She slicked the wet sand off of her arms and jogged lightly after Rachel. When she caught up, a few yards away, she could tell that Rachel was crying. Her shoulders shook and her steps wobbled unsteadily in the sand.

"Rachel." Quinn called, slowing to a walk.

Rachel stopped. Her shoulders hunched further like she was curling in on herself.

"Hey." Quinn grasped her upper arm and walked around to see her face. Rachel plowed right into her, headbutting Quinn's chest. Her arms wrapped around Quinn's waist and held on tightly.

"Are you okay?" Quinn asked quietly, cheek pressed against Rachel's hair. "Where are you going?"

Rachel pulled back, teary and sniffling and grimacing at her arms. "You're covered in wet sand." She complained meekly.

"Yeah, I- it's the kids' fault." Quinn took Rachel's forearms and brushed them off as best she could.

Rachel wiped at her eyes with her free hand. She took several shuddering breaths but couldn't stop crying.

"Rachel…"

"I miss you already." Rachel said shakily.

Quinn sighed sadly. She cupped Rachel's flushed face and used her thumbs to wipe away the tears.

"I have-I have questions, and there are so many things we haven't-" Rachel coughed. "We haven't gotten the chance to do yet."

"We'll have time, Rachel."

Rachel took a deep breath. "I didn't-I didn't get to go to the Keys. And we haven't even had-had sex yet."

Quinn's eyes widened. Rachel went quiet, ears burning. Quinn took a step closer and wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Did you want to fix that?" she whispered against Rachel's ear, looking for a smile.

Rachel sniffled. "What?"

Quinn kissed her cheek. "Right here, right now, Rachel Berry."

Rachel pulled back to search Quinn's face. "I didn't want to push you."

Quinn laughed easily. She dragged her hair out of her eyes and leaned forward. "I have been ready for you since that first day in the shower, Rachel."

Rachel's lips twitched.

"Remember I said I can teach you things?"

"But not right here." Rachel said hurriedly, glancing around like Quinn had actually been planning on taking her in the middle of the beach.

Quinn shrugged casually. "Wherever. I'm flexible."

Rachel finally smiled. She stared bashfully down at Quinn's bare feet. Quinn took her hand and started leading her further up the beach.

"I'm sorry I didn't get to take you to the Keys, but I _did_ say I'd show you some baby sea turtles."

Rachel gasped quietly as they passed by the dune and came upon the nest where they'd had their picnic. The earth looked like it had been disturbed, and it moved as Rachel watched.

"How did you know they would be hatching?" she asked quietly, in awe.

Quinn stood off to the side, smiling fondly. "I was here this morning."

Rachel shot her a confused gaze.

"It was about…three? I went for a walk on the beach."

Rachel stared, unsurprised. "You went for a walk on the beach at three in the morning?"

"Sure did."

It was another thing Rachel hadn't had time to fully figure out yet. Quinn's nighttime wanderings and odd sleep habits, why her girlfriend insisted on roaming about in the dark. She turned back to the turtle nest and sat cross-legged in the sand several feet away. Quinn settled next to her and Rachel held on to her arm, absently brushing away bits of wet sand.

"Will they be safe?" Rachel wondered softly, watching a small head push out of the dirt.

Quinn smiled. What a sweetheart. "I called Fish & Wildlife this morning because the beach will be packed. They'll be by soon."

Rachel scratched at the sand dried onto Quinn's elbow. "Do they make a path for the baby turtles?"

"Something like that."

Rachel nodded. She fell silent, fixed on the turtle emerging from the nest. Quinn decided that, with Tina running the booth, they could afford to stay there until the wildlife officers arrived. Rachel was awestruck.

"We have time, Rachel." Quinn said softly.

"I know."

"We have time _tonight_."

Rachel smiled at Quinn's suggestive tone, at the way she said it right against Rachel's ear.

"And we have time tomorrow, and we have loads of time after that." Quinn drawled. She slid her Wayfarers onto Rachel's face because the white sand was blinding.

Rachel tipped her head up when they slid down her nose.

"Thank you, baby."

Quinn pulled Rachel into her side, sure to knock as much sand onto Rachel as possible. "You're welcome, Rachel Berry."


	14. Chapter 14

**Ain't that a Kick in the Head**

**Chapter 14**

After photographing and naming the first seven sea turtle hatchlings for characters in _Anything Goes_- Reno, Moonface, Billy, Hope, Ritz, Ching, and Ling- Rachel returned to her booth on the beach while Quinn bounced around the pier, her shop, and her new dive boat in the harbor.

Rachel wasn't exactly moping, but she couldn't bring herself to put on another enthusiastic display of song and dance like she had Friday and Saturday. She still flung goodies at passers-by and made sure her music drowned out the other booths.

Tina prodded her repeatedly.

"I don't think it'll actually rain today." She mused, nudging Rachel's chair.

Rachel glanced at the sky and shrugged.

"That would be a nice change." Tina plowed on. "I think they've finished all the contest heats, right? Did you see the dolphins in the water earlier? I would've loved to go swim with them."

"Tina."

Rachel honestly appreciated Tina's grasping for distraction. But it was not working.

Tina smiled brightly at her. "Top five 80s music videos, Rachel." She requested. "Go."

Rachel was still humming "Thriller" when they packed up the booth three hours later. Tina had latched onto the song and taken the opportunity to teach Rachel the entire dance, and then shanghaied Judy into learning the second half when she stopped by to drop off another pizza.

The closing party on the pier started with sunset. Rachel left Tina behind and weaved through the large crowds- the surfers, spectators, locals, and tourists- trying to pawn off multiple boxes of leftover donuts and whatever goodies she'd failed to hand out. The slightly cooler air felt nice on her sunburnt face, but she was sweating through her tank top and growing increasingly sticky and sandy and frustrated in her search for Quinn.

"Donuts!" she heard a voice proclaim, and she smiled and veered off in its direction.

Sam grinned. He was sitting on the wooden pier railing- Rachel could knock him backwards into the ocean if she pleased- with Santana and Brittany on one side and Mike on the other. They were all red-faced and curly-haired and bare-footed.

Sam held his hands out expectantly.

"Split them with everybody." Rachel warned, handing him the last box of donuts.

Sam hugged the box to his chest protectively.

Santana reached over and pulled at the lid, trying to peek inside.

"Hey, dude, knock it off!" Sam protested. He swatted at her arms and Mike rolled his eyes and positioned himself to prevent Sam from tipping backwards into the sea.

"I have to count them or you'll hoard them all away."

"There are six, Santana." Rachel wiped at the sweat on her forehead and grimaced.

"Perfect. Three for me, one for each of you."

"Uh, no." Sam shook his head and slid forward off the rail. He yelped at the splintering against the back of his legs and dropped the box onto the ground.

Brittany lunged for it and Santana nodded approvingly.

"Have you seen Quinn?" Rachel asked.

"You go, Britt!" Santana exclaimed, watching Brittany jog gaily down the pier with Sam hobbling after her, rubbing at his legs.

"She was talking to some of the surfers." Mike offered. "They liked the shop."

Santana refocused on Rachel and thrust a small, black flask out towards her.

Rachel raised an eyebrow.

"Tequila to stop your sulking. Q's probably half-drunk by now. You need to catch up."

"I'm not sulking." Rachel mumbled, taking the flask anyway.

"And Quinn's not drunk." Mike protested.

Rachel coughed loudly. The drink was smooth, but it went down the wrong pipe, and Rachel took another swig or two to settle everything down. Santana watched, amused.

Rachel cleared her throat and handed the flask back. "It's so hot." She murmured, mostly to herself. The drink only made her warmer.

Santana nodded. "Everybody's sweating like fat pigs."

Mike looked repulsed. Rachel glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of Quinn leaning against the railing further up the pier. Her face was lit up by yellow pier lights, and her blonde hair stuck around her forehead while she laughed at whatever was being said to her.

"You should go pull her away." Mike said quietly. "She's probably had enough."

Rachel nodded shortly. "I will in a minute."

She turned back to Mike and Santana and squared her shoulders. "I have- my flight's early tomorrow. Not ungodly early, but…I'm not sure if I'll see you before I leave."

Santana scoffed. She smiled menacingly, but her eyes were too glassy to be legitimately threatening.

"Oh, you will see me, Berry. In the shop. I don't care what time because I'll probably be there all the goddamn night. Quinn says there's an armadillo hiding in the storage room."

Rachel stared.

"And if you don't come and see me, I'll track you down in la la land and smother you myself."

Santana strode away, sipping from her flask, and Mike grinned. "Smother with love, she means."

Rachel turned to him, lips pressed together. She put a hand on Mike's chest, right over the sea turtle logo, and tapped fondly. "I'm gonna miss you."

Mike wrapped his arms around Rachel's shoulders. "We'll miss you too, movie star."

"Keep everybody else in line." Rachel instructed, muffled against his chest. "Don't let Quinn kill them."

"You're the only one who can tame Quinn."

Rachel chuckled. "Well, _try_. Please."

Mike pulled back and ruffled Rachel's curled, sandy hair. "I will."

"Okay." Rachel watched him for a moment. There was heat lightning in the distance behind him and he was smiling warmly, patiently, and Rachel finally nodded to herself and stepped away. "Okay, thank you, Mike. I'll see you soon."

Rachel didn't know what exactly "soon" was, but it was a promise she'd keep.

…

Quinn could tell that Rachel was having a hard time approaching.

She'd left the pier and was now wading through the water about fifty yards up the beach. Quinn walked towards her quietly, sinking in the sand, used to roaming about in the dark. Rachel's head tipped, but she didn't turn around.

Quinn gave up her stealthy approach and came up quickly behind Rachel, splashing through the shallow water. She wrapped both arms around Rachel's waist and kissed her cheek.

"Hey there!" She greeted.

Rachel tilted backwards, chuckling. "Hey."

Quinn nuzzled into the back of her neck.

"Are you drunk?" Rachel wondered, scrunching up her shoulders. She could smell Quinn's breath, or her own breath- maybe that drink was stronger than she'd thought- mixed with seawater and salt.

Quinn dragged her dark hair over one shoulder and kissed her neck. "Nope. Why are you wandering around in the dark?"

"You make it seem like fun. I decided to try it out."

Quinn spun Rachel around, arms still around her waist. She lifted an eyebrow. "And?"

"It's lonely and boring."

Quinn scoffed quietly, tipping her head forward. "Lonely and boring." She echoed. She kissed Rachel, just long enough to realize that Santana had gotten to her as well with that black flask of tequila, and hummed at the taste.

"But we can make it not lonely and boring." Rachel murmured. She shivered when Quinn's hands dropped lower on her back.

Quinn gasped quietly against Rachel's ear. "Really? How?" She pressed her cold fingertips along the waistband of Rachel's shorts. "Go swimming? Boil some peanuts?"

Rachel snorted. "Shut up."

"We can name more turtles after fictional characters."

Rachel cut her off with a kiss. She arched up and her hands landed in Quinn's hair. A muffled shriek made its way out when Quinn's cold hands crept up her back. Rachel pressed further forward to get away from them.

Quinn chuckled and seized the opportunity to deepen the kiss further. Her tongue brushed Rachel's and her hands roamed as far as they could reach.

Rachel's hands seemed to be stuck in Quinn's hair. Tangled in the blonde, salty, I-just-got-out-of-the-ocean textured mess. She tugged roughly to free them and Quinn gasped and squeezed whatever flesh she could find.

"I don't…want to be…one of _those_ people." Rachel panted, sweaty and dizzy.

Quinn's forehead tipped against hers. "What people?"

Rachel swung an arm around vaguely. When her hand returned she made sure it landed on Quinn's ass. "The ones having sex under the pier."

"When have you ever seen people have sex under the pier?"

"It's like bleachers. Or high school stairwells." Rachel explained fervently. She kissed Quinn's neck, and then sucked on the spot and dragged her teeth and tongue over it when she pulled away. "People have-they have sex under the bleachers. It's tacky."

Quinn hummed absently. "And uncomfortable."

Rachel pinched her, and Quinn's hips jerked forward, surprised. Rachel smiled smugly.

Quinn's pupils were wide and dark, lips swollen. The humid air was suffocating her, or Rachel and her curly hair and flushed face and arms and legs and dimpled smile was suffocating her. She could barely catch her breath.

"Let's go." She breathed, turning on her heel with Rachel's hand in hers.

Rachel staggered for a step and then hurried along beside her, nervous and eager. Everything was so hot. Gobs of sand stuck to the saltwater on her legs and beads of sweat crawled down her back.

"Where are we going?"

Quinn licked her lips. Rachel's hotel was a good fifteen minute walk. Somebody was bound to be at the shop and Santana's black flask had ruled out Rachel driving anywhere. Quinn headed for the Jeep anyway. It was parked on the empty beach with all of their supplies from the booth strapped precariously on top.

Rachel tugged on Quinn's arm when she saw where they were going. "I can't drive, Quinn."

Quinn spun and flashed a smile. She kissed Rachel's knuckles. "We're not driving anywhere."

Rachel narrowed her eyes. The only vehicle less suited for what _they were about to do_ would be a Mini Cooper. Quinn swung open the back door of the Jeep and climbed in to fold the seats forward.

Rachel's eyes landed on her ass again- the same faded red shorts and full thighs. Like a magnet. She decided she'd have to write Sam a note apologizing for defiling his Jeep.

Quinn wrenched the lever back and jammed her knee into the seat, swearing under her breath when it didn't move.

"Damn Sham." She muttered, giving the seat a hard shove with her shoulder. "Fucking twenty year old Jeep."

She pulled the lever again and pushed with all of her body weight.

"Fuck!" She proclaimed when it just wouldn't budge.

Rachel took a silent picture of Quinn with her phone- mostly to immortalize her ass- and then climbed in next to her. "Slow down, honey." She soothed, amused. "How do you do this?"

Quinn blew the hair out of her face and slammed her hand against one of the seats. "Pull the lever. Push the seat."

She watched, tense and frustrated, as Rachel easily folded up half of the backseat. Then Rachel lodged her hands against the other half and looked expectantly at Quinn, who pulled the lever.

"I can hear it-it's clicking or something." Quinn gritted out, breathless and pushing against the seat.

"Does it need grease?" Rachel threw out.

"It needs to be dismantled and lit on fire." Quinn muttered. She shoved her shoulder against the seat a final time, and it gave way and folded forward, sending Rachel and Quinn toppling with it.

Rachel's wrist twisted and Quinn bit her tongue when her jaw hit the floor, but they were _finally_ lying flat and totally concealed except for the legs dangling out the back of the Jeep. Quinn sat up, seized Rachel's calves, and pulled them in, and then shut the back door.

She kneeled between Rachel's legs, chest heaving from exertion and desire. Maybe a bit of heat stroke. She could swear her tongue was bleeding.

Rachel arched her back a little, laughing lightly, and that was enough for Quinn. She tipped forward and landed with one elbow at the side of Rachel's head. Her other hand gripped Rachel's jaw so that she could crush their lips together.

She quickly learned that Rachel liked to writhe around, whether it was conscious or not. But it was good. It was dynamic. She also learned that Rachel was obsessed with either her red shorts or what was under them.

Rachel slid her fingers under the waistband and palmed the flesh there, and Quinn pulled out of the kiss and gasped against her cheek.

Rachel smiled breathlessly, pleased with herself. "Take them off, baby."

Quinn shook her head. "Tops first."

She sat up and pulled her t-shirt over her head. Her hand slammed into the top of the Jeep, and she was tangled for a moment until Rachel sat up to help her. Rachel didn't hesitate to unhook Quinn's bra and slide it over her shoulders. She kissed and nibbled from Quinn's throat down her chest until Quinn tugged impatiently at the bottom of Rachel's tank top.

She let herself fall backwards when she was free of it, and Quinn tumbled with her.

"It's really…really hot." Rachel managed.

Quinn groaned lowly. She delighted in the way their bodies plastered together, but she could barely breath. She wrapped one arm around Rachel's neck and slid lower to kiss between her breasts. Rachel pulled on the knots in Quinn's hair. She giggled when Quinn's tongue tickled her and hissed at the feel of her teeth.

It was honestly the greatest learning experience Quinn could imagine. When Rachel's knees drifted apart and her hips started rolling, Quinn climbed back up to kiss her lips. Rachel traced her thumbs around her breasts and looked up, wide-eyed.

"Now?" she gestured at Quinn's shorts.

Quinn grinned. "You first."

Rachel's hips lifted immediately. One of her legs was bent at the knee and jammed against the side of the Jeep, but Quinn managed to drag her shorts and underwear down and off before sitting back to remove her own shorts. She tipped clumsily sideways as she yanked them over her feet and smiled when Rachel laughed loudly.

"_Oh, what a night_," Quinn sang playfully, until Rachel sat up and gripped her cheeks to kiss her again. Quinn followed when she lay back down, letting her fingers poke and prod and drag over every inch of bare, damp skin.

"Quinn." Rachel panted thickly, hands roving freely. "It's so hot in here."

Hot and gritty and cramped and slick. Rachel rolled her hips up against Quinn's thigh.

"You keep-mmm." Quinn licked her lips. "You keep saying that."

Quinn felt it too. She was light-headed, either from the heat or the way Rachel's hand trailed lower and lower. Her fingers stopped for a moment and traced the scars on Quinn's abdomen.

"You're so beautiful." She remarked easily, like she was telling the world that the sky was blue.

Quinn flushed further. Both of their faces were turning alarmingly red.

Rachel grinned and lifted her hips, rubbing forcefully.

Quinn choked a groan and dropped her forehead next to Rachel's. She turned slightly and kissed Rachel's ear. "Rachel Berry."

"Hmmm?"

"You are…delightful and gorgeous and full of trouble."

Rachel took the opportunity to shift her hand again. Quinn went rigid, lost for words, before relaxing and snaking her own hand between their bodies. She loved the noises she discovered she could get Rachel to make- high pitched whimpers and laughs and hisses and deep groans. She loved the way her nails scraped along her back, dug into her arm, scratched her scalp when she was tangled in her hair.

It was clumsy, on both parts, and Quinn knew she'd have bruises from jamming so many rogue limbs into the sides of the Jeep, from rolling on top of levers and lumps, from Rachel's teeth.

The grit and the heat, the lighting in the distance, the sound of the waves all faded away. Unless Rachel was just finally losing consciousness. She listened to Quinn's breathing and clung to her, arm wrapped tightly around her neck.

Something dug into Rachel's back when she finally arched up, crying out, and Quinn curled a protective hand around the small of her back and eventually collapsed with her head on Rachel's heaving chest. Her tongue was still sore, she was cramped and gritty and sweaty, and she was pretty sure that she'd kneed Rachel several times, and all she could do was laugh.

She rolled until her lips were pressed firmly against Rachel's breast, and Rachel chuckled too. It lifted her chest and bounced Quinn's head around.

"Have you no boundaries?" she whispered breathlessly, dragging a hand through blonde hair.

Quinn sat up and twisted awkwardly to roll down the backseat window. She sighed at the breeze- warm, but at least the air was moving- and then lay back down with Rachel.

"Will somebody find us in here?" Rachel wondered absently. She imagined tourists peering through the window, cameras in hand.

She probably wouldn't be able to bring herself to care if they did. She was not moving.

Quinn figured they had until sunrise. Her eyelids were heavy and she lazily patted Rachel's boob. "Sleep, Rachel Berry." She instructed softly.

Rachel refrained from laughing again because she knew it'd rock Quinn around. She smiled widely- so widely- and delighted in the fact that she had ten whole hours to commit this feeling to memory.

…

Rachel drove the jeep back to Quinn's house before dawn. She was half asleep, so she went as slowly as possible, wearing Quinn's shorts and an inside-out tank top. While fumbling around for their belongings, she and Quinn discovered that they'd actually broken the lever on the backseat of the Jeep.

Quinn had shrugged it off. "Samson left my laptop in the rain once. We'll be even now."

Rachel felt horrendously guilty, but it did not stop her from climbing into bed with Quinn- after a much needed shower- for a few more hours of sleep. When she woke next, there was a warm body wrapped around her back and soft breath ghosting over her ear. She blinked sleepily and rolled over, curling closer to Quinn.

Rachel smiled to herself. Quinn's hair was fluffed out and clean, her lips curved into a small pout. Rachel kissed them impulsively. She was surprised when Quinn's eyes blinked open almost immediately.

"Did I wake you?" Rachel whispered.

Quinn shook her head lazily.

Rachel searched her face. Her hazel eyes were so bright in the morning.

"I love you." Rachel admitted softly, because Quinn _had_ to know before she left. There was somebody who loved her, who'd fallen in love with her, three thousand miles away.

Quinn tensed. She stopped blinking. Maybe she stopped breathing. Rachel wasn't sure. She searched under the covers for Quinn's hand.

"You don't have to say it out loud." Rachel assured gently.

She could see it in Quinn's eyes, her body language, her touch, her flush. She didn't need the sentiment voiced back to her, even if it would've been nice.

Quinn searched for anything to say.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

Santana always told her she fell in love too easily. It was partly her own fault when she was dragged through the dirt because the other person never felt the same way. But here was Rachel, with her sweet smile, telling her it was okay to keep it to herself for a while longer.

Quinn wrapped an arm around Rachel's shoulders and pulled her against her chest. Rachel suspected it was just to hide her face.

"You're going to be so great, Rachel." Quinn managed, voice husky with sleep.

Rachel chirped a small noise of thanks into Quinn's hair.

Quinn tightened her hold. Rachel was warm and small, and her hair was curly and smelled delightful where it tickled Quinn's nose, and Quinn never wanted her to leave the bed.

"I'm going to miss you so much." She said quietly. She coughed lightly to disguise a sniffle, and Rachel tried to pull back to look at her face, but Quinn held strong.

Rachel rubbed her back instead, dragged her fingers through blonde hair. "I'll miss you too." She gave a watery laugh. "I already miss you."

"You smell really good." Quinn breathed after a moment.

Rachel laughed. She fisted her hand in Quinn's soft t-shirt.

"Tell me if you have any problems with Jesse." Quinn instructed shakily. "Or any problems at all. Don't go surfing unless you take someone with you or there's a lifeguard on duty."

"A lifeguard like you?"

Quinn chuckled and wiped at her eyes. Rachel felt her nod.

"You need to be careful too, please." Rachel requested quietly, tugging on Quinn's hair. "If you feel wheezy go to the doctor. Don't stay up all night."

Quinn hummed her acknowledgement. She had to keep swallowing to stop herself from crying.

"I'm really glad that jellyfish stung me." Rachel proclaimed, smiling. She finally worked herself loose of Quinn's arms and pulled back just enough to see her face.

"Man o' war." Quinn corrected.

Rachel rolled her eyes and Quinn poked her in the ribs.

"I'm really glad that _man o' war_ stung me, goofy feet."

Quinn growled playfully. She rolled on top of Rachel and briefly kissed her cheek before dropping lower to blow a raspberry against her neck. Rachel shrieked with laughter. Quinn thumbed away her tears and then collapsed on top of her, dead weight.

Judy could hear them from the guest room. Rachel's laugh was vibrant and loud, and Quinn's was sweet and melodic. Judy had already said goodbye to Rachel yesterday, with a hug and a sincere promise to call soon, and she smiled to herself at the bursts of laughter and shrieks permeating the walls.

She had honestly never heard Quinn laugh like that before. She listened as it tapered off and wondered if it would continue when Rachel was gone.

…..

Rachel found Sam wolfing down waffles on the couch in the shop lounge. He shot to his feet as soon as he saw her, wrapped her in a hug, and spun her around. It lifted her heavy heart for about half a second.

"Leaving now, Rach?" he guessed, setting her back down. He wiped at the crumbs on his face.

Rachel could smell maple syrup and chlorine on him. She smiled sadly and nodded. "Tina's saying goodbye to Santana. Our driver's waiting outside."

Sam grinned. "That's fancy."

"You should come to LA. I'll show you fancy."

"Oh yeah. I need to test out those beaches." Sam drawled, nodding. "Don't be surprised when I come bangin' on your door."

Rachel smiled at him. She was actually excited for that. She glanced around the lounge- as faded and sandy and cluttered as when Quinn had first dragged her in here. There were Gatorade bottles and a ten year old Bop-It on the coffee table now.

"Sam-"

"I know. I will." Sam cut her off, nodding confidently.

Rachel pushed at his shoulder. "You don't know what I was going to say."

Sam tilted his head thoughtfully. "Take care of Quinn. Don't let her drown. Don't let her suffocate. Be nice to her." He recited, eyes sparkling. "Unless you were going to tell me you love me. In which case, dude, Rachel, this probably isn't the best-"

"God, _stop_." Rachel laughed.

She waited until Sam was silent and expectant.

"Can you make her boiled peanuts today?"

Sam's eyebrows lifted, amused.

"And sweet potato fries." Rachel shoved her hands into her pockets. "I know she requests them all the time and you guys don't really take her seriously with it, but…Just today. Please. She'd like that."

Sam watched her. "I can do that. Is that it?"

Rachel licked her lips and glanced around. "We sort of…broke one of the seats in your Jeep last night trying to get it to fold down. One of the lever things snapped."

Sam stared at her. His eyes widened when realization hit.

"You…Oh my God." He laughed stiltedly. "Dude. That's…Quinn is so…_Dude_. I mean, good. Way to go."

Rachel flushed to her ears. She studied Sam warily. "I told her to help you fix it. Or I can pay for you to-"

"No, no." Sam waved her off. He laughed abruptly and shook his head. "Seriously, way to go. I left Quinn's laptop in the rain once. She threw my phone in the pool, but now we're totally even."

Rachel snorted. She was not surprised that Quinn had left out the part about the phone.

"Thanks, Sham." She said softly.

Sam pointed at her while she backed away. "Hey now. Only your girlfriend can call me that."

Rachel swept into the hallway and up into the board room, where she ran into Santana, who seized her arm and dragged her behind the shelves of longboards. Santana looked tired, but manic, and Rachel let herself be pulled.

"Tina's in the car. Quinn's up front." Santana informed brusquely.

Rachel nodded slowly.

"I trapped the armadillo under a plastic box, so we're working on that now."

"I…" Rachel frowned, impressed. "Good-good job."

"Thank you, thank you." Santana nodded proudly. "What beach is closest to where you live?"

Rachel blinked. "In…What, in LA?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "Where the hell else?"

Rachel huffed. Her gaze drifted off as she thought and Santana crossed her arms.

"Probably Manhattan or Redondo?"

"Manhattan or Redondo." Santana echoed, nodding to herself. "And how large is your place over there?"

Rachel narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

"Don't question it."

"You're being rather aggressive. I just want to know-"

"Multiple bedrooms?" Santana cut her off. "Or is it some artsy studio shit?"

Rachel sighed, resigned. "I have a three bedroom house, Santana."

"Oh!" Santana smiled cheerily. "Good for you."

Rachel was lost. She glanced around to make sure she recognized her surroundings, so she was looking the other way when Santana pulled her into a sudden hug. She relaxed all her limbs like she'd been taught to do when attacked by wild animals.

"I like your movies, Berry." Santana said into her hair, much less aggressively. Almost kindly.

"I like your voice sometimes, when you're not harping on. I like what you've done for the shop, and I like how you've been with Quinn. Bitch actually smiles now."

Rachel frowned when Santana pulled away. "She smiled before."

Santana shrugged. "On the beach, maybe. In the dark, with food. She smiled at little things. You're making her happy with the big ones."

It was perhaps the most profound thing Rachel had ever heard.

Santana wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a final squeeze. "So don't screw it up."

Rachel eyed her. "I'll miss you too, Santana."

She took a deep breath and walked through the board room to the front of the shop, where Quinn was leaning against the counter with Mars in her arms. She looked sullen, and she glanced up hopefully when she heard Rachel's footsteps.

Her dark hair was straightened. Those Hollywood glasses sat on top of her head.

"Time to go." Rachel murmured, dragging her feet so that they scuffed along the wood floor.

Quinn heaved a shaky breath.

"Make sure you feed Mars Bar every day." Rachel said quietly. She tickled under the cat's chin and stepped to the side when Quinn set him on the floor.

Quinn wrapped both arms around Rachel's shoulders and hugged her tightly.

"You'll come back?" she asked softly, and then shook her head against Rachel's shoulder. She honestly didn't know what she was thinking. She felt like a child.

Rachel choked. "Of course, baby."

Quinn nodded.

"Don't forget me." Rachel smiled tearfully. She pulled back to press a kiss to Quinn's lips. "I know all about your memory problems."

Quinn frowned, brows furrowed. The effect was thrown off by her red-rimmed eyes and teary cheeks. "What-what are you talking about? Why are you in my shop, Rachel Berry?"

Rachel shrugged. "Because I love you."

All of Quinn's words, everything she'd ever spoken got stuck in her throat. Her chin shook trying to force something out.

Rachel tapped her cheek fondly. "Are you gonna kiss me or not?" she asked gently.

Quinn exhaled sharply from her nose. She nodded. _Of course_. Of course she would. She gripped the back of Rachel's neck and pressed a sweet, lingering kiss to Rachel's lips.

And then Rachel was blinking rapidly and heading for the door. "I'll call you when I land." She said in the most weirdly strained, high-pitched voice she'd ever managed.

No words came to Quinn. Everything was locked inside and she couldn't drag it out.

She waved to Tina and watched Rachel climb inside the car. She couldn't watch it drive away because that was ridiculous and she just didn't do things like that. Things like say "I love you" out loud because she was an absolute idiot. She retreated to the lounge, where Sam and Santana were reclined with plates of waffles, and dropped into the armchair.

They slowed their eating and watched her carefully. "Hey, Q."

Quinn tipped forward, head in her hands, and cracked. Sam and Santana were on either side of her immediately. Her phone buzzed, and she unlocked it shakily without looking up, shoulders heaving.

There was a picture of Rachel, smiling pitifully in the back of the car, obviously waving at the phone, with the caption:

**See? It's not so bad, baby. See you soon. Xoxo.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Ain't that a Kick in the Head**

**Chapter 15**

"You really should eat healthier."

Quinn blinked at the amused face on her computer screen. She chewed deliberately on her pretzels and shrugged.

"Or at least at regular intervals." Rachel pressed. "It would be better for your metabolism."

The image froze briefly, with one of Rachel's eyes half-open and her mouth twisted on the word "metabolism," and Quinn snorted lightly.

"Sham and Santana take all my food."

Rachel leaned playfully towards the camera, eyes sparkling. She was in her trailer, lounging on a couch that she complained was too firm, too clean, and too empty, waiting for Kurt to call her to rehearsal. Quinn smiled at her lifted eyebrow.

"They wouldn't steal your food if you had some carrots, maybe a selection of fruit." Rachel tapped her screen. "Whole wheat toast is nice too. And there's a wide variety of cereals that do not have cartoon animals on the box, in case you didn't know."

Quinn patiently allowed Rachel to talk at her. She sat lazily back in her chair, feet propped on the coffee table, and chewed on her pretzels, delighting in the new, powdered cheesy variety Sam had purchased. Rachel's voice was always so chipper, even when listing the benefits of Rice Chex over the Cap'n Crunch Sam would always buy.

Some might think it was piercing. Quinn just smiled at Rachel's ebullience.

"And I know you like peaches." Rachel said sternly. "Don't even try to pull that face."

Quinn stared blankly at her screen.

"I'll tell Sam to buy some the next time he goes grocery shopping."

Quinn finally spoke up, shaking her head. "No, no Rachel. I'll just go with him and pick out some things."

Rachel watched her for a moment, lips pressed together. Quinn was halfway through her bag of pretzels. She realized that she'd spent the first twenty minutes of their limited Skype session talking about food.

"You don't have to if you don't want to, of course." Rachel amended, staring at her own picture on the screen. "Just…you know, eat what you like, I suppose."

Quinn held two pretzels over her eyes. "I do like peaches." She drawled. "Maybe I'll teach Samson about the food pyramid. I think he only knows about the top part."

Rachel chuckled.

"I'll show him a few new aisles at Publix. It'll be a whole new world."

Rachel nodded, pleased. She watched Quinn lick the cheese from her fingers and scrunched up her nose. Quinn purposely slowed her actions and smiled mirthfully. Her teeth were a shiny white block on Rachel's screen.

"That is not attractive." Rachel scoffed.

Quinn tipped her head back against the chair and ran her tongue along her index finger. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Rachel's gaze was unblinking, entranced by the sharp curve of Quinn's jaw.

"It's probably mostly sand, anyway." She managed, remembering how Quinn's hands would always be glinting with specks of grit that would never fully wash off.

Quinn hummed and winked at the screen. "Delicious, delicious sand."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "How was the surf this morning?"

Quinn sat up immediately, eyes bright. She rolled up the pretzel bag and tossed it onto the coffee table and then ran a hand through her wet hair. Rachel laughed at her reaction.

"I have a story for you." Quinn announced, grinning.

Rachel gestured with her hand. "Let's hear it, baby."

Quinn's gaze remained on the screen when Mars bounced lightly into her lap. "Mike wanted to come with me this morning, which is fun, even though he surfs like a grom and wears booties with boardies." She began, scratching absently at Mars's back.

"Right." Rachel said sagely.

"So we went out past the pier-"

Quinn cut herself off at the sound of Rachel's trailer door opening. Rachel turned and smiled at somebody out of frame, and Quinn sighed before Kurt even came into the shot. He smiled quickly at Quinn before gliding further into the trailer.

"They're ready for you, Rachel." He declared, breathless. "They're starting from act two. Loads to cover today. Did you practice those changes to _Buddy, Beware_?"

Quinn stared at the side of Rachel's head and picked quietly at the sand under her nails.

"Who do you think I am, Kurt?" Rachel replied indignantly. "Of course I did."

"Well, chop, chop, chop!"

Quinn heard Kurt clapping his hands together in the background, and then a lot of shuffling and banging as Rachel turned back to the camera.

"I'll call you later, baby." Rachel promised quietly. "You can finish the story."

Quinn shrugged. "It's not that great."

"I want to hear it."

Quinn sighed. She sat forward, smiling softly, and Rachel searched her face. It was so much harder to see things through the screen- a slight quirk of Quinn's lips, a flash of her eyes. Even the small noises she made were lost through the speakers.

"Go sing your socks off, Rachel Berry."

Rachel smiled fondly at her. "Love you."

Quinn barely managed to return the sentiment before the call was disconnected.

…..

Thanks to Finn and the dive boat, which he and Quinn had called _Babanees_, the scuba section of Jupiter Surf was growing rapidly. An hour before opening, Quinn sat on the floor of the shop painstakingly untangling the hoses, valves, and cords of every BCD that she was adding to the rack, and muttering to herself because _honestly_ she should be able to delegate this task to one of her moron employees.

"Can't even put together a scuba vest." She groused, yanking at a regulator until it came free from the pile.

She sat back on her heels and frowned at the hose. The regulators shouldn't even be in the pile since there was nothing to attach them to without an oxygen tank.

Quinn flung it, gently, off to the side. "Dumbasses." She grumbled.

She was red-faced and sweating, tugging violently at a twist of corrugated hosing, when Santana strolled through the front door half an hour later. Quinn's gaze cut over immediately, and the fright on Santana's face was real but fleeting.

"Why are you late?"

"Good morning, sunshine." Santana greeted, eyes rolling.

Quinn turned back to her pile of scuba gear. "You were supposed to be here an hour ago."

She shifted slightly when Santana crouched next to her and began pulling on the other ends of the corrugated hoses. Santana pointed, and Quinn switched wordlessly to work on the rubber exhaust tubes.

"I was out late with Britt." Santana smirked. "And I met with Finn this morning."

Quinn narrowed her eyes. "What about?"

"Not much." Santana shrugged casually. Her voice was far too light, disinterested. "Dolphins, donuts, Monday things. Dude's good for a laugh."

Quinn shook her head. Honestly.

"Whatever you're doing, don't fuck anything up." She mumbled.

Santana jerked one of the corrugated hoses, painfully pinching Quinn's finger. Quinn's eyes flashed up at her but Santana just sighed heavily and went back to work.

"What-"

"You need to knock it off, Quinn." Santana said tersely

Quinn rubbed her finger against her shorts and ground her teeth together.

"Call her, text her, Skype her, whatever." Santana waved her hand around. "Just remind yourself that she's still there because you're driving us fucking crazy."

"Somebody ate my peaches." Quinn defended ridiculously.

Santana actually stopped and looked at her, probably to determine if she was serious, and Quinn stared hard at her own fingers pulling uselessly at the hoses.

"Are you-no, whatever." Santana shook her head and laughed shortly. "I'll drive you to the store later." She offered, a shade softer. "Or get Sam or Mike to take you."

"They're picking up two boards right now." Quinn clipped.

Santana frowned. "Are they…_running_ there? Because the Jeep's outside, so…"

Quinn froze. She dropped the scuba gear and stood up, jaw clenched, eyes ablaze. She tripped on a vest as she stepped towards the board room but caught herself and kicked it away from her ankle.

"Oh shit." She heard Santana laugh as she stormed away.

Quinn groaned as soon as she stepped foot in the lounge. Sam and Mike looked over from the couch, eyes wide. Judy stood near the fridge with a magazine and a cup of coffee.

"Hey, Quinn." Sam called hesitantly. "Is everything-"

"You're supposed to be halfway to Jacksonville right now." Quinn bit out, digging her nails into her palm.

Sam's mouth dropped open in realization. Mike leapt up from the couch so fast that he knocked the coffee table back several inches.

"Oh shit." Sam said. He glanced at the time on his phone and held up a hand to stop Mike from rushing around. "No, wait dude, it's okay. We don't have to be there until the afternoon. We have time."

Quinn laughed shortly. Sam looked a bit frightened.

"No, you don't have time, because you're probably going to get lost." Quinn said sardonically. Her voice was deceptively airy. "And then you're going to want to pick up leashes and traction pads, and you might even stop at the beach to test the boards out. And you are definitely going to hit a thunderstorm on the way home. You need to leave now."

"We got it, Quinn." Mike assured, and then slipped out the yellow door before Quinn could spin and berate him.

Sam bounced around the room, gathering his belongings while Quinn's eyes bore into him.

"My bad, Q." he muttered as he walked to the door, hugging multiple articles of clothing, hats, and bags of food to his chest. "See you later."

He paused halfway through the yellow door and turned to meet Quinn's gaze. "And dude, you should call her or something. I got you more peaches. They're in the fruit bowl."

The door shut on Quinn's quiet "thank you," and she moved around the recliner to sit on the couch.

"Honey." Judy remarked, and Quinn jumped because she'd forgotten her mother was in the room. "Is everything alright?"

Judy sat next to her while Quinn nodded.

"Sam and Mike are good boys. They just forgot. No harm done."

Quinn nodded again. She looked down at her hand, at the half-moons on her palm and the red mark where her finger had been pinched. She could feel her mom's gaze on her.

"I've found an apartment nearby." Judy said, watching for her reaction. "The lease is for eleven months. And it's pet friendly, so I thought I might get a dog. A terrier of some sort."

Quinn snorted softly. She sank back into the couch and set her feet on the coffee table. Her ribs, legs, and head hurt, and she could honestly just fall asleep right there.

"So that means I'll be around." Judy said lightly. She patted Quinn's thigh. "I'll be here to help out. Maybe if you go somewhere, if you're not here for whatever reason, I'll be able to help with the shop."

Quinn's eyes cut suspiciously up to her mother's.

"And your friends aren't as useless as you like to joke." Judy added, smiling innocently.

"Are you going somewhere with this?" Quinn asked lowly.

Judy took her hand and rubbed warmly at all of the red marks. "Nope. Nowhere, sweetheart."

Quinn sighed. She closed her eyes and tipped her head against her mom's shoulder. Judy dragged a hand through her salty blonde hair.

"I like having you around." Quinn admitted quietly.

She liked that her mom's blouse smelled faintly of lemons, instead of the overpowering, headache-inducing perfume she remembered.

Judy smiled. "Rachel said you'd be pleased."

Quinn glanced at her mom's watch. Rachel would be awake in an hour, hopping out of bed and heading to her costume fitting. She'd probably stop for coffee, multiple times, and she'd have on those big sunglasses and the pink flip-flops she loved because they molded perfectly to her feet.

Quinn chuckled to herself. The thought of Rachel Berry in a sailor suit for _Anything Goes_ warmed her heart.

…

Rachel yanked at the bottoms of her jeans to get them off of her legs. They were stuck, because she was hot and sweaty and disoriented, and she tipped into her closet door before tumbling to the floor.

"Shit." She muttered, rolling to sit up.

She missed wearing shorts every day. Wearing shorts and dresses, and not having to beat her hair into submission every morning. She pulled off her jeans and angrily hurled them away. Once she was in her pajamas, she bounced onto her bed and opened her laptop.

Rachel _almost_ felt guilty for sending the Skype contact after midnight, Florida time, but Quinn had insisted. And really, Rachel hadn't needed much persuading.

She smiled when Quinn's face appeared on her screen, sleepy and disheveled, with "Call Me Irresponsible" drifting from her speakers.

"Don't you look cute." Quinn rasped, smiling tiredly in the dark room.

Rachel filled with warmth and looked bashfully down at her crossed legs. She realized she'd forgotten to check her hair and hurriedly ran a hand through it. Quinn watched her affectionately.

"Were you asleep?" Rachel asked.

Quinn shook her head. "I was playing with Mars."

Rachel squinted at the dimness on her screen. She could tell that Quinn was at the shop instead of at home, which wasn't _too_ worrying, but she looked incredibly tired. And her hair was wet, so she'd probably been surfing.

"I should let you go so you can sleep." Rachel said, pouting sympathetically.

"Don't you dare disconnect, Rachel Berry."

Rachel hesitated, mouth open.

"How was rehearsal today? You did 'I Get a Kick,' right?" Quinn queried, because she knew Rachel wouldn't be able to hang up without answering.

Rachel licked her lips, obviously conflicted, and Quinn leaned towards her screen, eyeing it soulfully. Her lips curved into a fine pout.

"Tell me, baby. Please."

Rachel wavered. "But you look so tired."

Quinn decided not to be offended. She'd only rolled out of the ocean an hour ago, so she knew how she must look. "I don't-" She coughed several times because her voice came out as a wheeze, and then tried again.

"You know I don't sleep. I'm supernatural."

Rachel eyed her, lips pressed together. "You're super-something."

Quinn settled back into the couch and lifted an eyebrow pointedly.

"We did rehearse 'I Get a Kick out of You' today." Rachel relented, tipping her head. "The choreographer switched some things around but we're ready to shoot. Our last rehearsal is tomorrow."

Quinn hummed thoughtfully. "And then how long will the actual filming take?"

"It's scheduled for four months."

It would probably be several weeks longer because re-shoots would require heading out on a boat, but Rachel chose not to mention that.

Quinn stayed quiet, rolling it over in her head. Four more months.

Rachel watched her. She wished she could say that they'd have full weekends free, or time where Rachel wouldn't be needed, but she couldn't be sure. She didn't want to give Quinn false hope. She was already full of it herself. Full of something.

"I'm going to let you sleep, baby." Rachel murmured when Quinn rubbed at her eyes. "What time should I call you tomorrow?"

Quinn shrugged, staring off at something out of the shot. "You don't have to if you don't have time."

"I will _make_ time." Rachel insisted. "When is best for you?"

Quinn sighed sullenly. She cleared her throat and coughed again, and Rachel frowned.

"Rachel, honestly, just…whenever." Quinn waved a hand around her face. "I'm always here."

"Are you getting sick?" Rachel asked gently.

"No."

"Are you okay?" Rachel toyed with her blankets. Quinn couldn't seem to look at her. "I don't want to hang up if…I mean, you're acting distant."

Quinn laughed shortly. It came out rough and wheezy, and Rachel made a mental note to call Santana.

"You're three thousand miles away, Rachel. How else should I act?"

Rachel bit her lip. It was the middle of the night. Things would be better in the morning. 'Call Me Irresponsible' had switched to 'The Best is Yet to Come,' and Quinn seemed to be chuckling at the irony.

"Do you ever feel…" Rachel trailed off, unsure where she'd been going.

Quinn smiled wryly. "Like a plastic bag?"

Rachel couldn't laugh. She wondered if Quinn ever felt that maybe this relationship wouldn't work.

"I know it's not easy." Rachel said quietly. "It's not easy for me either, but we've managed a month. Let's just go to sleep now, and tomorrow we can-"

"Yeah, alright." Quinn nodded quickly, rubbing at her face.

There was a lump in Rachel's throat that refused to budge. She knew the separation would be easier if they'd had more time together. Married couples could be apart for months at a time. They knew their partners' hearts and their bodies inside and out, and there was no doubt that they'd see each other again.

Rachel was clinging to a summer in Jupiter. She threw herself into _Anything Goes_ every day, barely managing Skype sessions before passing out. But she knew it was different with Quinn, who didn't sleep, who surfed at night and roamed the beach and fed Mars Bar if she happened to remember. The expression on her face was constantly breaking Rachel's heart.

"I'll call you tomorrow." Rachel promised, voice strained.

Quinn nodded silently, staring off into the corner of the room.

"Love you." Rachel whispered.

Quinn's eyes flickered over. She gave a fleeting, watery smile and a quick "Love you too" before shutting her laptop.

…..

Quinn bobbed on her board near the pier, not too concerned with actually catching a wave. Her legs hurt and she was content to just roll with the swells. She paddled around, careful not to get too close to the dark, looming structure of the pier, and vaguely kept track of her location using the green lights on the shore.

She hummed to herself, a song that kept morphing because her mind was a dizzy blur. Impulsively, she caught one of the waves, just to get herself further away from the pier. She bailed early, out the top of the wave, and splashed back into the dark water with a laugh.

"I could be a pro." She chuckled, swimming in easy circles.

Her knees ached with every kick, and she ducked under the blackness of the water, just to determine if she could see anything.

She couldn't, but she dragged herself down as far as the leash on her board would let her, and soaked up the overwhelming darkness. She couldn't tell which way was up and she couldn't see a thing- not a shadow or a reflection or her hand in front of her face.

It was suddenly terrifying, and she kicked back up to the surface and emerged, breathing heavily.

"Don't do that again, Quinn." She scolded herself. "What are you doing?"

She climbed back onto her board and slicked her hair back. She stared at her legs for several moments, and then pinched her thighs just to make sure that she could still feel them.

She smiled proudly. "Nope. Not paralyzed."

Quinn glanced towards the green lights on the shore and lost her breath when she saw two figures standing there waving at her. It wasn't a casual wave, definitely urgent, and after clearing her ears and coughing several times she could tell they were yelling.

"Sham and San." She heaved a sigh and then winced and pressed a hand to her aching chest. She laughed to herself. "Samtana and Sanson. Shan and Sam."

She caught the next swell to ride in, not even bothering to stand up because she didn't completely trust her legs. She slid off her board in waist deep water and ignored the way her rashguard rode halfway up the back.

The burning sensation hit her after two steps. It was a hot knife against her hip, and she leapt sideways when it registered in her muddled mind.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck…" she groaned lowly, surging towards the shore. She couldn't see a thing in the water. She could be tangled in a web of man 'o war for all she knew.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" Santana yelled angrily, waving around a flashlight. "God, Quinn, seriously-"

"Wait, dude, wait." Sam interrupted as Quinn staggered out of the water, clutching her side. He rushed towards her and clicked his own flashlight on. "Are you- what is that? What happened?"

"I just got stung." Quinn ground out. She laughed abruptly and tipped into Sam's side. "Like Rachel. Just like Rachel, Sam."

"You're fucking drunk." Santana whispered, watching her.

"Do you remember when Rachel got stung?" Quinn plowed on, letting Sam hold her up while Santana unstrapped the leash from her ankle. "She had- she had lines all over her leg."

Santana held up Quinn's rashguard and shined the flashlight on her side, right above her hip. "God, Quinn." She muttered.

Quinn hummed against Sam's shoulder. "Poor Rachel."

Santana ran a hand over the inflamed, violently red webbing on Quinn's side.

Quinn lurched away, biting down hard on her lip. "Fuck, that-that hurts."

"It's your own fault, idiot." Santana chastised. She gave Sam a nudge on his shoulder to get him walking. They moved slowly, hindered by Quinn's wheezing and general disorientation.

Santana's phone rang as they stepped onto the path away from the beach, and she glanced at Quinn and answered it with a sigh.

"Hey."

Rachel was pacing around her living room in mismatched socks, shorts, and one of Quinn's sweatshirts. She froze at Santana's voice. "Did you find her?"

"At the beach, in the dark, drunk, and stung like a dumbass." Santana relayed.

Quinn waved an arm in her direction, brows furrowed. "Hey, who's that? Is that Rachel?"

Rachel gasped. "Stung? By what?"

"Maybe it's not going to work out between us, Rachel." Quinn mused loudly, right against Sam's ear. "You're there and I'm- I don't- where am I?"

"Can you shut her up?" Santana hissed at Sam, ignoring Rachel's disembodied voice.

"She's just sad." Sam said, pausing so that Quinn could catch her breath.

"What was she stung by?" Rachel screeched into her phone, frantic. "Is she there? Is she alright?"

"Berry, sit down." Santana said sharply. She hitched Quinn's board up under her arm and waited. Rachel planted herself on the edge of her couch.

"Are you seated?"

"Yes." Rachel said impatiently.

"She was stung by a man o' war." Santana informed. "Just like you."

"Just like Rachel." Quinn sang, further up the path. Santana snorted fondly.

"So we're taking her back to the shop, we'll put her to bed, and I'll call you in the morning." She assured Rachel. "Or she will. Whatever."

Rachel chewed on her lower lip. "You're sure she'll be okay?"

"Totally fine." Santana pulled a face, bobbling her head skeptically. She watched Sam and Quinn swerve off the sidewalk and stumble back into the curb.

Rachel sighed. "Will you tell her I love her?" she requested quietly.

"Sure thing."

Sam and Quinn paused for a coughing fit, and Santana hung up the phone and caught up to them. She tucked the surfboard under one arm and helped to support Quinn with the other.

"I feel sick." Quinn rasped as they crossed the Jupiter Surf parking lot.

Santana scoffed. "Do you really? Because you look fantastic."

Quinn turned to her, scowling.

Sam and Santana managed to maneuver her into the shower, and then Sam left to prepare her sofa bed and Santana not-so-gently pulled the rashguard over Quinn's head. She sat her on the floor and planted her side under the stream of hot water.

Quinn was silent. She looked even worse in the light of the shower. Santana observed dark circles under her glassy eyes and a worrying, wheezy cough that Quinn was trying to contain.

Santana crouched and nudged Quinn's knee to get her turn slightly. "Come on, babe. You need to be under the water."

Quinn complied wordlessly. She ground her teeth against the fire engulfing her abdomen.

"Rachel said to tell you that she loves you." Santana said softly, balancing just out of range of the shower spray.

Quinn nodded slowly, eyes on the surfboard in the corner of the shower, on the black "B" on its nose. She released a wheezy, squeaky breath and smiled to herself. "I want to go home."

….

When Quinn woke up, it was because she couldn't breathe. Her face was pressed into the back of the couch and she'd been coughing in her sleep, shallowly attempting to pull air into her lungs. She rolled over abruptly and gasped at the stabbing pain winding over her abdomen.

The nausea and headache-right at her temples, pounding dully- only registered once she opened her eyes to the sunlight streaming in through the windows.

"Oh my God." She rasped, angling her head over the edge of the couch in case she needed to throw up.

"That's attractive." Santana drawled from somewhere near the fridge.

Quinn curled her legs up and shut her eyes again. She could feel the raised welts on her side through her t-shirt. She tried to take a deep breath, but it sent her into a coughing fit, which intensified her headache and made her feel like crying.

She probably was crying. Every part of her body seemed to be in pain.

She felt a warm hand on her arm and opened her eyes to see her mom sitting on the coffee table. Judy smiled softly and dragged her hands through the tangled, blonde mess on Quinn's head to tie it back from her face.

"Mike picked up your prescription this morning." Santana declared, plopping down next to Judy. She opened a small, white bag and grinned at the pills inside. "Antibiotics. Fun."

Quinn tried licking her lips. Every breath came out as a squeak.

"Gatorade, waffles, ice packs for the stings, and sweet potato fries thanks to Britts." Santana pulled each item out of a canvas bag and placed them on the coffee table.

Quinn moved her head slightly, just to take stock of her limbs. She was in a threadbare pair of blue shorts and an old white t-shirt, and she had half the beach caked to her feet and face. The other half was in her tangled hair.

"And finally," Santana said slowly, leaning forward. She smiled slightly and dangled a slip of paper in front of Quinn's eyes. "Your boarding pass."

Quinn blinked to focus her gaze on the plane ticket.

Judy clasped her hands together primly. "You leave this afternoon, honey. Fort Lauderdale to LAX, with a stopover in Phoenix."

Quinn rolled her head until her face was pressed into the couch cushion. "Yeah, right." She chuckled throatily.

"Yes. Right." Santana pinched Quinn's knee, and Quinn jerked away and whined at the burning pain in her side. Judy lightly slapped Santana's leg.

"You have six hours." Santana chirped, prodding Quinn's shoulder. "Sit up, take your pills, take a shower, put some aloe on that jellyfish shit, and pull yourself together. If you don't, TSA will think you're a crack mule and you'll end up in federal prison."

"I'm not going to see her." Quinn mumbled.

Santana shared an exaggerated, confused frown with Judy. "Uh, see who? We're sending you to look at an available shop space in Redondo Beach."

Quinn blinked. She pulled her face out of the couch and sat up slowly, careful not to upset her head or rub her side against anything. She licked her lips again and thanked her mom quietly when she was handed her antibiotics and a Gatorade.

"It's two thousand square feet. Outdoor shower, hardwood floors, right by the beach." Santana described.

Quinn leveled her with a stare. "And it just happens to be ten minutes from Rachel's house."

Santana scoffed. Judy shook her head and they shared another amused glance, like Quinn was being ridiculous. Quinn narrowed her eyes.

"Is that where Rachel lives?" Santana asked curiously. She shrugged. "I didn't know."

"It really is a beautiful space, Quinn." Judy added. "I'll show you some pictures before you go."

Quinn ran both of her hands over her face, rubbing until she couldn't feel any more grit under her fingers. She drank half her blue Gatorade and then shook her head.

"That's not- I can't just fly to LA." She protested tiredly. "I have this shop to run."

"Finn and I will be taking over your duties." Judy supplied, hands clasped neatly on her knees.

Quinn stared at her.

"Between the two of us, we've got it covered, honey." She promised. "I know how much this place means to you and I would never let anything happen to it. And Finn's doing remarkably well with his scuba section. He told Santana that he'd be glad to have more responsibilities."

Quinn would never fully trust anybody with her shop. But she'd always wanted to surf in southern California. She wanted to experience the cold water, to have to wear a wetsuit, to cross rocks on the beach and watch the sun set- rather than rise- over the water.

She lifted her t-shirt absently and eyed the web of red sting marks.

"You said you wanted to go home." Santana reminded, watching Quinn's actions.

Quinn dropped her shirt and cut her gaze to Santana's. "You mean last night?" she asked sarcastically. "When I was drunk?"

"And wounded and sick and being an absolute dumbass. _Yeah_." Santana nodded genuinely. "You said you want to go home. I know you didn't mean Ohio. You didn't mean your house and you sure as hell didn't mean this shitty green couch."

Quinn exhaled sharply from her nose. The squeaky cough that followed ruined her facade.

"You meant her. She's home." Santana sat back and shrugged. "Or you can just go, check this place out, and surf. Your call."

The excitement rising up inside Quinn was undeniable. And the anxiety, worsened by the fact that she couldn't take any deep breaths. She tapped her fingers over her thigh, eyes on the floor.

"Whatever you do decide," Judy said softly, "we just don't like seeing you how you were last night, Quinn. Something needs to- We're just worried."

"Don't be." Quinn said shortly.

She was distracted. Would she need booties for California? What was the oversized luggage charge for shipping a surfboard? How happy would Rachel be to see her?

If she wasn't absolutely, sparklingly elated, Quinn didn't know if she'd be able to handle it.

"You smell…like seaweed." Santana said lightly, leaning back on her hands. She tipped her head thoughtfully. "With a hint of dead-"

"I can't drive anywhere." Quinn interrupted, glancing between Judy and Santana. "So I'll need lots of cab money. The case for my board is at Mike's house and I need to see Finn to confirm that you're not lying out of your ass, Santana."

Santana shrugged, smiling. "Fair enough."

Quinn gave another rumbling, hacking cough. She drank the Gatorade her mom handed to her and then cleared her throat.

"What time are you taking me to the airport?"

Judy smiled proudly. Santana nudged her in the side.

"I told you she'd go." She said smugly. "She just needed a kick in the head."


	16. Chapter 16

**Ain't that a Kick in the Head**

**Chapter 16**

Rachel was growing frantic. She stalked rapidly around her kitchen with her phone gripped tightly in one of her sweaty hands, just waiting for it to ring. Nobody had contacted her since the night before, when she'd been informed over a staggered phone conversation that Quinn was stung by a man 'o war while drunkenly surfing in the dark.

It was a sitcom, ridiculous.

Now nobody in Florida would answer Rachel's calls. She'd tried them all—Quinn, Santana, Sam, Mike, Brittany, Finn, and Judy—and decided that it couldn't be a coincidence that not a single one had picked up.

The end was coming. Either Quinn was in an awful condition—too awful to communicate over the phone, with every person she'd ever known gathered at her bedside—or she was planning a break up. Rachel's stomach roiled at both possibilities. She sighed despairingly and tipped forward against the kitchen counter, pressing her forehead against the cool granite.

"Quinn, Quinn, Quinn." She said lowly, lolling her head from side to side.

She knew Quinn wouldn't be this cruel on purpose. She'd at least send Rachel a text, an "I'm alive. Chill out." Rachel rolled her eyes over to the clock on the microwave. It was four pm. A whole day had passed without any news.

Rachel's head shot up from the counter when her phone vibrated in her hand. She pressed it to her ear without checking the name and growled throatily at Tina's "Hey Rach."

Tina hummed sympathetically. "Nobody's called you back yet?"

"Nope!" Rachel nearly shrieked. She thudded a fist absently against her counter and spun around. "Nobody has called me. Nobody has answered. Either they're all trapped in the eye of a hurricane, or they've lost all consideration and every manner they've ever learned. It's so rude, Tina."

"I'm sure there's an explanation."

Rachel scoffed. "There better be."

These people were driving her out of her mind. Her weekly laze-around Sunday had turned into a twisted rush of nerves and worry.

"Have you tried calling the shop?" Tina wondered.

"It's Sunday."

Tina made a short noise of realization. "Closed for church."

Rachel hopped up onto her kitchen island and gasped at the cold surface against her thighs. She lay back until she was staring up at the double pendant light hanging from the ceiling, knocking her feet impatiently against the cabinets.

"Give them until tonight." Tina suggested gently. "If you don't hear anything by midnight our time, we'll call somebody else."

Rachel begrudgingly asked, "Who?"

She thought she'd exhausted all of her options. If Tina hadn't called, she'd probably be on the phone with the Palm Beach County Police Department.

"I have a friend at the hotel." Tina offered. "And at that coffee shop on the corner. We have people who can check, Rachel. Don't worry."

Rachel remained silent. She shut her eyes when they started to burn.

"Do you need me to come over?" Tina asked. Her voice was soft, warm.

Rachel shook her head. "No, just-"

She swallowed the rest of her sentence as her phone vibrated again, hot against her cheek. The display read "Santana," and Rachel rolled right off the island in a panic. She landed on her bare feet, clutching the edge of the counter, and managed "Tina, I'll call you back. My phone's ringing," before switching calls.

She heard the first syllable of Tina's "Okay," and then silence.

"Hello?" Rachel's eyes scrambled blankly around her kitchen. "Santana?"

"Nine missed calls and twenty-two texts." Santana drawled. She sounded more impressed than annoyed, and Rachel experienced a fleeting moment of relief before her anger set in.

She pursed her lips while Santana spoke.

"So what's in your bonnet, Berry? Did-"

"Is Quinn alright?" Rachel interjected sharply. "How is she? And why is nobody answering my calls?"

Santana was quiet for a moment. "She's sleeping."

Rachel waited, wide eyes boring into her blurry reflection in the stainless steel fridge.

"We picked up her prescription." Santana relayed more seriously. "You know those antibiotics wear her out."

Rachel could picture her girlfriend conked out on the green couch in the lounge, wheezing like an asthmatic and clutching a gritty pillow. She knew what antibiotics did to Quinn, and she smiled ruefully.

"And she forgot her phone." Santana tacked on when Rachel failed to respond.

"Why have none of you answered my calls or texts?"

The line was muffled for a moment, and Rachel recognized Finn's rushed whispers and Santana's biting tone. There was a loud crackle, like the phone was dropped, a melodious tone from Brittany, and then Santana's voice again.

"We were sleeping."

Rachel narrowed her eyes. "All of you? Together? All day?"

"On and off." Santana said casually. "We were on a boat too. Finn took us snorkeling. No service."

"You left Quinn alone?"

There was another beat of silence, and then a tight "Yes" from Santana.

Rachel took a moment to process everything. She was baffled. Santana was obviously hiding something—and lying through her teeth—but Rachel couldn't care less what it was as long as Quinn was alright. She still couldn't rid herself of the pesky, despairing thought that Quinn wasn't happy, that she was planning some kind of elaborate break up.

"Will you ask her to call me, please?" Rachel entreated quietly. "And take care of her."

Santana hummed a vague assurance. She cleared her throat and said, "What are you up to for the rest of the day?"

Rachel would probably order in, rehearse her lines, cry a little bit, and then go to bed with the headache that had been building all day.

"I might watch a movie later." She told Santana.

"So you'll be home." Santana hedged.

"I don't plan on going anywhere." Rachel said slowly. She honestly didn't have the energy to turn up whatever shenanigans Santana was sending her way. "Why?"

"No reason. Q will want to know when she wakes up." Santana said lightly. "Girl's got the memory of an old man and somehow you're always at the front."

That was the truth, Rachel knew, and she held onto that assurance as she hung up the phone.

…

Quinn strode stiffly through baggage claim at LAX, glad to be free of the cramped, stuffy atmosphere of the plane. She carried a canvas backpack on her back, her shortboard case slung over one shoulder, and a duffel over the other. Her surfboard grazed the man 'o war sting—the wild mass of angry, raised red lines under her t-shirt—with every step, and she tried to contain her wheezing so that it wouldn't draw any attention.

In only a matter of hours, the antibiotics had given her breath back, but they did nothing for the burning web on her abdomen. Quinn brushed past several bulky shoulders and staggered out to the curb, where she was hit with the cool, dry evening air of southern California. It actually chilled her—shockingly different from the suffocating heat she'd just left—and she dumped all of her things on the ground to rummage through her backpack for a sweatshirt.

Quinn was pulling it over her head and eyeing the line of taxis jostling for prime pick-up position when one of the drivers approached, gesturing at her luggage.

"Taxi, miss?"

Quinn quickly pulled the sweater down and reached up to flatten her hair. She thought about triple-checking the map on her phone to make sure Rachel's house wasn't within walking distance. Her hands were sweating already.

"I-yes. Please." She nodded stiltedly. "How long is the drive to Redondo?"

The driver tossed her duffel and the shortboard strap over his shoulders and nodded at a white SUV with a "TAXI" display on top. "Twenty minutes in this traffic. You know where you're going?"

"I have an address."

Quinn climbed into the passenger seat while the driver—the dashboard ID said "Buck"—folded the back seats down to fit her surfboard. She buckled her seatbelt tightly, wincing at the pressure against her abdomen, and took several deep breaths. Buck seemed trustworthy enough, as trustworthy as any cab driver. Quinn thought about asking him to drive carefully, but figured that he'd be doing that anyway, unless he was a maniac.

She dug her shaky hands into her pants pockets and stared hard out the window, focusing on anything except the jerky, abrupt turns out of the airport. Buck was merging onto Pacific Coast Highway when Quinn finally turned her phone back on. She groaned lowly at the slew of texts and missed call notifications that came pouring in, all from Rachel.

Buck glanced at her, amused.

Quinn dialed her mom immediately, and Judy answered with a cheerful, "Hello, honey! How was your flight?"

"It was fine, mom. Has anybody spoken to Rachel yet?"

Judy hummed. "Santana called her about an hour ago. She was very worked up."

Quinn slumped back in her seat, dismayed. Of course Rachel had been worked up. She was ignored by everybody. Quinn hoped Santana had placated her instead of riling her up further.

"Honey? Are you still there?"

Quinn grumbled.

"Okay, good." Judy said. "You should know Sam and Mike broke down on a bridge over the St. John's River in Jacksonville right after you left, but they called AAA, so they're okay."

Quinn stared blandly out the window, unsurprised. The traffic wasn't terrible and Buck drove like a sane person, but Quinn still kept one hand anxiously balled up in her pants pocket.

"But Finn drove the dive boat around for a while and booked two more full scuba tours, so everything's going well." Judy informed brightly. "Are you excited, honey?"

Quinn glanced down at her shoes and cracked a smile. "Maybe."

"She'll be so pleased to see you."

"Yeah." Quinn murmured. If Rachel was anything less than deliriously overjoyed, Quinn would probably have to turn around and go home. She dragged her gaze back to the window and eyed the hills in the distance, the sloping curves that led to the coast, so different from the vast expanse of flat swampland she was used to.

Quinn hung up with her mother after promising to her call later. She opened her window as Buck drove through Manhattan Beach and smiled at the salty air. She couldn't see the sea yet, but it was near. _Rachel _was near, maybe five minutes away, and Quinn found that she couldn't smother her smile at the thought.

Buck pulled off Pacific Coast Highway, rather abruptly because of his delayed GPS, and he mumbled a distracted apology while Quinn white-knuckled the door handle. He drove a couple of blocks through a pleasant, suburban area—lots of large, neatly manicured, variegated houses, Quinn noted—and rolled downhill towards the beach before turning onto Rachel's street.

Quinn's heart thudded away as she squinted at the numbers of each address. Most were gated with privacy fences, and Buck pulled up against the curb right outside one of the houses whose gate was open. Quinn made a note right away to remind Rachel to keep it closed.

It was a narrow, two-story house—pale green with brick accents and a large window over the garage—and there was a dark blue sedan parked in the driveway. Quinn smiled at the colorful flowers dotted around the path to the front door. It was very Rachel.

She slung all of her bags and straps over her shoulders and paid and tipped Buck, and then walked off the sidewalk onto Rachel's driveway. She heard a whirring sound behind her, and she turned—bewildered—to find the dark wood gate rolling closed. She blinked at it and briefly wondered if Rachel had purposely trapped her.

Rachel watched with dismay as her gate closed with the stranger standing in her driveway. She'd meant to shut the woman out, not catch her. The stranger walked further up the driveway and Rachel narrowed her eyes through the peephole of her front door, heart rate quickening.

"Oh my God." She muttered.

She recognized the canvas shoes, the size of that surfboard. Quinn paused to rearrange her bags and then turned up the path to the front door, and Rachel gasped as her face was revealed. The same sharp jaw, eyes crinkled with amusement, mop of blonde hair.

Rachel dropped the gate remote to the floor and fumbled frantically with the deadbolt on the door.

"Quinn!" she called, like she was locked inside her own house. She tripped out as soon as the door swung open. Quinn dropped all of her bags the moment she laid eyes on Rachel—the small, dark-haired creature barreling towards her in nothing but a sweatshirt and boyshorts.

"What are you doing here?!" Rachel shrieked, colliding with her girlfriend.

Quinn lost her breath and tripped backwards over her surfboard, but staggered and kept them both upright. She smiled widely into Rachel's hair and lifted her into the air.

"Hi, baby."

Rachel squealed until Quinn set her back down. She stood up on her toes and tangled a hand in Quinn's hair and kissed her fully. Quinn chuckled against her mouth.

"Are you lost?" Rachel asked, high-pitched and teary eyed.

Quinn observed her, brow furrowed. "I don't know. Who are you?"

"I think you remember."

Quinn smiled warmly and tilted forward to kiss the corner of Rachel's mouth. "Hi, Rachel Berry."

Rachel knew they should probably go inside—she was wearing no pants and the air was chilling her legs—but she refused to let go of Quinn. She nuzzled into Quinn's neck and mumbled, "What are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighborhood," Quinn drawled, smiling. "I was just walking around and some…_strange_ woman trapped me in her driveway."

"You should've warned me." Rachel protested. "It's not proper to-" She cut herself off and gasped, finally understanding. "That's why they were all ignoring me!"

Quinn hummed. She stood patiently while Rachel tugged her sweatshirt and t-shirt up, watching her inquisitive, worried brown eyes. Rachel gasped softly and traced the tips of her fingers across the raised, red lines marring Quinn's side.

"Let's go inside." She said abruptly, dropping Quinn's shirt and stepping away to collect her duffel bag and backpack.

Quinn picked up the surfboard case and grinned as she followed Rachel to the front door, eyes on her ass. "Your undies are cute." She called, and she laughed when Rachel slowed her pace to allow for a deliberate, exaggeratedly ridiculous swing of her hips.

Rachel's house smelled faintly of citrus and Chinese food. She led Quinn through the entryway, past a hallway and the staircase—made of the same hardwood as the floors, with a wrought-iron banister—and into a bright, open living room. The walls were all comfortable creams and blues, matching the large fabric sofa set. Quinn placed her surfboard onto the floor and dropped face-first into the couch with a groan.

Rachel, with one foot on the single step leading to the kitchen, laughed and hurried back to her.

"Baby." She whispered, leaning over the back of the couch.

She lightly slapped Quinn's butt, and then squeezed when she got no reaction. Quinn snorted into the pillow. It smelled like Rachel and it was free of sand and she loved it already.

Rachel smiled fondly. She moved Quinn's surfboard to the corner of the room, and then grabbed a water bottle, a bag of ice, and a dish towel from the kitchen. She returned to the couch and placed the water next to her abandoned take-out and the ice against Quinn's side, over her t-shirt but under the sweatshirt.

"Quinn." Rachel whispered, tugging at her girlfriend's shoes. She brushed the sand off her bare toes. "Turn over."

Quinn obliged, eyes closed.

Rachel nudged her shoulders and managed to settle at the end of the couch with Quinn's head in her lap. She recognized the wheezy breathing, and she soothingly ran a hand through Quinn's tangled hair.

Rachel bit her lip, still trying to rid herself of a niggling thought. "You didn't come here to break up with me, right?" she asked, so quietly she wasn't sure it had left her lips.

Quinn's eyes flew open. "What?"

"You-" Rachel faltered with a hand stuck in Quinn's hair. "That's not why you came here, right?"

"Of course not, Rachel."

Rachel released a shaky breath.

"I'm checking out a commercial space at the beach tomorrow." Quinn shut her eyes and pressed her face against Rachel's sweatshirt. "It was my mom and Santana's idea."

"Oh." Rachel nodded slowly.

She bit her lip to smother her smile and un-paused the movie on her television. It wouldn't do to build up hope right now. It wasn't even Quinn's idea to be here. Her girlfriend would probably be drunk surfing in the dark again if nobody had intervened.

But Redondo Beach was two blocks from Rachel's house. She could see the water from her balcony out back, and Quinn's lithe body fit perfectly on her sofa.

….

The commercial property was waterfront, right across the street from the beach, where access paths wound down a shrubby hill to the sand. It was much narrower than Jupiter Surf—nestled between a crab house and a record store—with a freshly painted, bright blue exterior.

Quinn swayed slightly on the sidewalk, having taken her antibiotics with breakfast, and observed the view. It was the perfect location. The waves were breaking smoothly and her toes were tapping and itching to get out there with her surfboard.

Rachel clung to her side to keep her upright and smiled at the realtor, a warm woman who'd introduced herself as Mercedes Jones.

"It's gorgeous." She remarked.

Quinn nodded absently and turned to look at Sepp's Crab House, the pink-fronted, bustling local eatery she'd—hypothetically—be sharing a wall with. She wondered if it ever smelled, if the seafood stench on hot days would drive people away.

Mercedes unlocked the front door and gestured for them to follow. "Y'all are gonna love this. It's even better on the inside."

Rachel squealed a bit at the wooden shark handle of the door before pulling Quinn through. It was airy and cool, with lower ceilings than Jupiter Surf, but with similar scuffed wood floors and pastel paint on one of the walls. Quinn was immediately struck by how bright the place was, despite the low ceilings. Knobbly, wooden columns divided the long room about halfway through.

"It smells like mothballs." She whispered to Rachel, nose scrunched up.

"I'm sure you can change the smell, baby."

In her antibiotic haze, Quinn was doubtful. She wandered after Rachel and listened to Mercedes describe the place.

"You share a brick wall with the crab house and a wood paneled one with the music store." Mercedes pointed to the ceiling. "There's new track lighting all the way through and renovated plumbing in the back, but everything else is from the original 1956 build."

"Wow." Rachel breathed.

Quinn could only imagine how much this space would cost.

"You said it, girl." Mercedes laughed. She gestured to a narrow, wooden staircase that blended in to the wall paneling. "And I don't know if you realized it when you came in, but that was a loft room over your heads. It looks over the rest of the space."

Rachel hummed appreciatively. Quinn's mind jumped straight to the possibilities—a board room, an office, a lounge. She was fascinated by the hideaway staircase.

They followed Mercedes through a door into the back room, which was half the size of Jupiter Surf's lounge and in need of a fridge. There were restrooms and a large stock closet, but no winding, sandy hallway or shaping room.

"You could fit a couch in here." Rachel mused, squeezing Quinn's hand. "And we can easily obtain a fridge."

Quinn smiled. "You know people?"

"I know people. I can get a good one."

Mercedes flipped on the overhead fan and nodded at the back door—the same new bright blue as the front of the shop. "You have a killer brick patio area out there. The last people didn't use it much, so it's overrun with vines, but landscaping shouldn't be too difficult.

Rachel eyed Quinn, lips quirked mischievously. "Is there an outdoor shower?"

"They added one when they redid the plumbing." Mercedes nodded, smiling. "I'm not saying they got carried away, but it's nicer than my shower at home."

Rachel eagerly herded Quinn across the room and through the blue door. Quinn's breath caught the moment she stepped outside. The shower was off to the right—enclosed by brick, free of sand—but the unbridled plant life was what held her attention. A twisted, unruly shrub of pink-tinged morning glories lined the low wall between the shop and the crab house. Webs of vines wrapped around the shower and the back wall of the shop, sprouted up from the stone patio, and climbed the fences.

Quinn was taken with it, Rachel could tell. Her mouth hung open slightly. Her sharp eyes took everything in.

"It's a hot mess, but it wouldn't take long to clean up." Mercedes reminded.

Rachel smiled softly. "I think we'd leave it, actually."

It was a pipe dream, a passing fancy, a fantasy. Quinn would never be able to afford the space—she'd looked at it mostly out of obligation and curiosity, and because Rachel was at her side pointing out every positive she could find in her un-subtle way of telling Quinn she'd like her to stay.

Quinn was hit with an abrupt longing for this place on the beach, a five-minute, downhill walk from Rachel's house. She could picture them fooling around in the shower, in the loft, jogging out the front door at the end of the day to surf and then climbing the hill back home with bare, sandy feet and falling into bed.

She'd call it Jupiter Surf, of course. Another world in Redondo.

"It's an incredible place." Rachel murmured, observing her girlfriend. She could see her talking herself out of it, dropping back to reality.

Quinn nodded wordlessly. She plucked a purple flower from a sweetpea plant and tucked it fondly behind Rachel's ear. It was too bad the shop would never be hers.

….

"Give me one good reason." Rachel demanded.

Quinn stared up at her, eyebrow lifted. They were sharing a large lounge chair on Rachel's balcony, which Quinn had quickly decided was her favorite part of Rachel's house. There was a wrought iron spiral staircase that extended up to the roof—where Rachel never went because she was afraid she'd tip right over the edge—and down to the backyard patio.

Quinn already adored the middle balcony because it was feet from Rachel's bed—with soft pillows and sheets that smelled like her girlfriend and everything she'd been missing—and she could see the ocean. Rachel had left the French doors of her bedroom open the night before and it was like sleeping on the beach.

Now, Rachel was lying half on top of her, careful to avoid the welts on Quinn's side, eyeing her seriously.

Quinn sighed. "I have a shop in Jupiter, Rachel. I can't just leave it."

"But you _can_." Rachel insisted. She tucked her fingers under the elastic waist of Quinn's shorts and rubbed lightly. "You have your mom and Finn there now. Your friends aren't as incompetent as you like to think, baby. And you can hire new people here."

Quinn gazed up at her silently.

"Give me another reason." Rachel requested.

Quinn smiled. She tickled her fingers up Rachel's back, under her thin cotton tank top. "Why? So you can refute everything I say?"

"With perfectly logical arguments, yes."

Quinn lolled her head thoughtfully. "I just reconnected with my mom again." She said quietly. "I don't want to mess that up by moving three thousand miles away."

Rachel hummed, still rubbing under the waistband of Quinn's shorts.

"That's really distracting." Quinn smiled wryly.

Rachel refused to stop. "Your mom would understand. She bought part of your ticket, right?"

Quinn nodded shortly.

"She wants you to be happy. She can visit for months at a time." Rachel threw up a hand. "Hell, she can live in that loft if you like, Quinn. I promise you it won't be like before."

Quinn mumbled, "I'll miss her."

Rachel kissed the side of her head. "I'll move Judy into my house. We can all be roommates. Give me another reason."

Quinn heaved an exaggerated sigh. "You are exhausting, Rachel Berry."

Rachel snapped her fingers, brow raised.

"How do you expect me to pay for that place?" Quinn asked, amused. She wondered how Rachel would talk her way out of this one. "Magic beans?"

Rachel's eyes widened. "Do you have magic beans?" she whispered in Quinn's ear.

Quinn rolled her eyes.

"You know, I'm doing pretty well right now." Rachel said seriously, holding Quinn's gaze. "Financially, at least."

Quinn snorted lightly. She could definitely tell Rachel was doing well financially. The three balconies overlooking the ocean and spiral backyard staircase clued her in.

"I would love to invest in a fledgling local business."

"I can't take your money, Rachel." Quinn shook her head.

"It's an _investment_, Quinn." Rachel emphasized. She pulled her hand out of Quinn's pants for a moment and chuckled at her girlfriend's pout. "You'll pay me back with interest. I know your business. I worked there for three months and I organized your books. I know you'll be successful here and I want to help."

"That's a lot of confidence you have, Rachel Berry."

Rachel smiled proudly and snuck her hand back into Quinn's shorts. "Do you have any more reasons not to lease that space?"

Quinn slowly shook her head. There was one more, but she couldn't put it into words. It was a feeling, really—the safety she felt in Florida, the friends who saved her and built her back up, taught her to walk again, remembered things when she couldn't.

Rachel dragged gentle fingers over the web of marks under Quinn's t-shirt. "I love you, you know."

Quinn's lips quirked. "I love you too."

"You were running away when you moved to Florida." Rachel continued. "From something really terrible, and you needed to rebuild. You're so strong, Quinn. Maybe you can run _towards_ something now. Whatever you want."

Quinn remained silent, eyes on the ocean. She could surf both coasts. She'd be loved on both coasts. She'd shattered her circle to bits long ago and felt like she was jumping off bridges every day.

Rachel's breath hitched. She brushed the blonde hair out of Quinn's eyes. "Even if it's not with me. Just…whatever would make you happiest. I worry about you."

"You make me happy." Quinn threw out like it was obvious. She eyed Rachel sadly and added, "But there are no boiled peanuts here."

Rachel laughed against her girlfriend's neck. "We'll make you some."

Quinn stretched her arms over her head and arched up into Rachel. Her hands landed lightly on Rachel's butt when they came back down, tickling the hem of her shorts. She could feel Rachel smile, her warm breath.

"But not right now." Quinn said, grinning widely.

Rachel tilted up to kiss her. She pulled her hand out of Quinn's pants and tugged on the elastic. "Not right now."


End file.
